Bridging the gap
by trekfreak2008
Summary: Sequel to Kesarah. Everyone knows that Star Fleet is supposed to be non-prejudiced, but when a young 'vampire' enroles as a cadet and dreams of becoming a star ship commander, will the theory work in practice? How far is too far? Alternate Universe.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek and am not doing this for any kind of profit. _

_**Author's note:** Sorry to anybody who was waiting for this story to come out, but as you can see, I have finally had a free moment to write it down. Yay! I hope you enjoy it. _

_**Summary:** Everyone knows that in theory Star Fleet is supposed to be non-prejudiced, but when a young Kesarahn 'vampire' joins the Academy with hopes of becoming an officer on the most prestigous star ship, how true will this theory be in practise?_

_Every day is so wonderful  
And suddenly I saw debris  
Now and then I get insecure  
From all the pain, I'm so ashamed_

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A few weeks after receiving an offer for a place at Star Fleet Academy, Spock stood alone at the main Vulcan shuttle centre waiting for the ride that would take him to Earth at long last. At his feet stood one solitary suitcase filled with the few personal possessions that he was authorized to take with him. Once he got there, he would be supplied with a uniform and be shown to the quarters that he would stay in. That was all that he had been told in the letter, and the mystery made the whole transition from Vulcan to San Francisco more exciting and inevitably more daunting.

Sarek had refused to accompany him to the station and had made it crystal clear that he did not support Spock's choice at all. Although Sarek dealt regularly with Star Fleet as Ambassador to Vulcan, he did not necessarily share their beliefs. His father believed in the Surakian belief that taking life must not be done at all, since life of all kinds was precious. However, Star Fleet upheld the policy that if a Federation life is threatened, it is necessary to kill in order to survive.

The fact that Spock was going to be training to be a science officer did nothing to win over Sarek. It did not matter what profession he claimed he did, he would still be a willing part of what most Vulcans considered to be a military and therefore violent organization. He had also made it known that Spock could accept no sympathy if he was injured in the line of duty, and his father had been graphically vocal about the possibility of death in deep space. He did not see the same appeal in risking his life to explore the unknown that Spock did. The same could be done in other organizations that had a much lower mortality rate.

Sybok, when he had been around, had understood Spock's decision, for he had had the very same dream during his childhood. If he had not had his visions of Shakaree, he would have joined Star Fleet, but he had insisted that his visions had shown him more possibilities and opportunities in life.

He had become fixated with the idea of paradise, and had come to the conclusion that it was necessary to feel emotion and to denounce logic if paradise were to be found. He had argued that it would be impossible to find true contentment if you did not allow yourself to feel your own emotions; an experience that Vulcan logic denied them. Sybok had insisted that to suppress with logic was to lose the way.

At first, it had just been an idea, a philosophy that he and Spock had regularly discussed and debated, but had soon become more than that. Sybok continued to act like a true Vulcan, and for all intents and purposes appeared as though he would indeed be an appropriate apprentice for the position of Ambassador to Vulcan.

Gradually, he became more vocal about his view, and began to question the laws of Surak. He began publishing academic essays with the help of a fellow revolutionary, and tried to persuade other Vulcans that the emotional way was the only one. Some agreed with him, but he was essentially seen as just another academic who questioned but never actually believed.

Frustrated at his lack of credibility, he had begun doing public talks and speeches both inside and out of his college, until he was forbidden to make speeches in public places and risked expulsion. Not wanting to jeopardize his academic position, he had reluctantly stopped the public appearances, but after a brief reprieve he began holding them privately.

Occasionally there would be rumour of these talks, but they were never actually caught in the act since they kept changing their locations. Not even Spock knew where his brother was in those hours when he disappeared. Eventually, Sarek had caught him in the process of revealing another Vulcan's innermost pain. This was practically a criminal offense on Vulcan, since a person's thoughts and secrets were given the utmost respect. It was considered to be a violation of their privacy and dignity to reveal it in public as Sybok had done, even when consent was given.

Sarek had disowned his revolutionary son and Sybok had become an outcast, forced to leave Vulcan, never to return. Nobody could speak of him by law, not even his own close family, but that had not stopped Spock from missing the last living person who had ever understood him.

When he was spoken to, it was with a clinical interest, as though he were some kind of exotic specimen that should be examined closely. Sybok had been one of the very few who did not blame him for the death of Amanda Grayson, nor treat him like a criminal. It had of course been a shock to his system to learn of what Spock had done, but after he had accepted the fact, their relationship had resumed just as it had in the past.

Sybok had been one of the only ones who had any faith in Spock at all, and had fully believed that his younger brother would eventually be able to enter Star Fleet, despite now being a Kesarahn. He had predicted that by the time Spock was of age, reforms would be made by the admiralty to accommodate his race, and he had been right- as always.

Facilities had been installed in replicators to reproduce animal blood for those Kesarahn who did join Star Fleet, and they were now allowed to serve aboard predominantly human star ships, as long as there were trained security personnel aboard. However, all of the cave dwellers who had so far joined the Fleet generally preferred to serve aboard their own ships, and none had served on integrated ones so far. He hoped to be the first.

However, despite the reforms, there were still cases of prejudiced treatment of Kesarahns, even towards those who did not drink blood. The whole planet had become tainted by the knowledge of the cave dwellers, and there were some who were determined to make their lives miserable. Spock had known about this but had resigned himself to a life of scorn and discrimination; he had already experienced it throughout his childhood, having been a half human, and half Vulcan boy.

He had worked hard to join Star Fleet, and not even wild horses could drive him away.

Despite all of his promises to himself, it was with a sense of wary anticipation that he boarded the shuttle that was headed to San Francisco. The shuttle passengers consisted mainly of Vulcans, but there were a few humans and one solitary Andorian who was sitting shyly in the corner.

He received slightly wary looks from the Vulcans, but a few of the humans smiled at him politely, unaware of who he was. He nodded back and took his seat, turning to stare out of the window.

There was a shudder and the seats rattled slightly as they took off and hovered in the air, waiting for the go ahead. Slowly, it started to move forward as the hangar doors opened, and the Vulcan scenery came into view.

There was a long stretch of desert with the occasional mountainous rock formation and oasis which covered the planet surface. Small dots that could have been desert animals prowled in the vast sandy expanses, hunting for food in small holes in the ground or shady spots under rocks. The occasional bird circled overhead looking for dead meat that might have been half buried in any recent sandstorms.

The main city, Shikahr, loomed in front of him, the gates swinging open to allow visitors access. At night they would be closed in order to keep the people in and any nocturnal creatures out.

In the center of the city was the school that he had attended as a child, and he could barely see the small forms of young Vulcan children as they made their way to their classes.

He did not look at his house which lay on the outskirts of the city, and where he knew Sarek was at this very moment. Instead, he turned his back on the window and took out an Academic paper that he was halfway through.

The journey was long and dull despite the reading, and the blood craving increased until he could no longer ignore it. Resisting the smell of blood in the room and the pulses in the necks of the people around him, he made his way to the replicator and ordered his meal.

Walking back to his seat, he noticed the Vulcans look at him with disgust, although it was carefully hidden and only showed from the expression in their eyes. He walked past a human male that had smiled at him earlier, and saw him stiffen the moment he saw the blood, his expression becoming hostile and unfriendly. The Andorian merely watched him with polite interest.

Ignoring all of them, he sat down in his seat and sipped his drink just as they qouls aip a coke. The human's expression turned to pronounced disgust.

He felt a presence next to him and looked up to see the Andorian woman standing by the seat next to him. "May I join you?" Her voice was soft and friendly, her antennae quivering shyly.

Spock moved his bag off the seat in confirmation and returned to sipping his drink as she sat down. "My name is Thela."

"I am Spock," he replied politely, ignoring the glances from the other passengers. They seemed to be concerned for Thela's safety.

"Are you going to Star Fleet Academy by any chance?" She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him, which was surprising. Most people only spoke to him out of pity or if they needed something.

"Yes. You are also to be a cadet?"

She nodded, relieved that she knew someone else who was going to the same place as her. "It's my first year."

"It is mine also."

"Really? What are you studying?"

"The sciences and officer duties," he replied.

"I'm doing the exact same thing! Maybe we'll be in the same classes. Do you know anyone else in the older years at the Academy?"

He shook his head. "Negative."

She smiled understandingly. "The same for me. I've never even been to Earth before- it's going to be a whole new experience."

"I am certain that you will soon adapt."

She nodded. "I hope so. I really don't want to make a fool of myself on the first day because I'm unfamiliar with the customs."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "There are many other cadets who originate from different planets and cultures. They will not expect everyone to be well versed in the customs of Earth."

"Well, I hope you're right. Someone once told me it was the exact opposite."

"Theoretically that should not be the case."

"It'll be an interesting experience either way," she continued enthusiastically. "I look forward to sightseeing in my free time."

"You will have ample opportunity over the course of the next few years."

"I know; I can't wait. All those monuments, the mountains, the deserts, the oceans…" she sighed. "Hopefully living on Earth will also help me improve my Standard."

"That is not necessary. You appear to have an extensive knowledge of the language."

She grimaced in aggravation. "The professors at the Academy don't seem to think so. I have to take a full course in Standard- as if I knew nothing of the language."

"That is highly illogical."

She rolled her eyes in agreement. "I know, but at least I'll get an extra qualification on my record."

"A distinct advantage, however it will do little to contribute to your science studies."

"It might help when it comes to training for landing parties. It always helps to have people who can communicate with each other," she joked.

"Do you wish to serve aboard a Star Ship?"

Her face became dreamy and he was abruptly reminded of Ettikah. He struggled to force the memories aside. "I wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Indeed. I have observed that Star ships are extremely popular."

"It'll be hard to get on one, especially if they're famous." She grimaced at the idea of competition. "How about you? Where do you want to work; star ship, outpost, colony?"

"I wish to serve aboard a star ship."

"We seem to have a lot in common," she grinned.

"Indeed." He struggled to keep his thoughts from returning to Kesarah and Ettikah. In an attempt to distract himself, he took a sip of his drink.

"You're making me thirsty," she complained. "I'll be right back."

She got out of her seat and made a bee line for the replicator. He found himself staring at her, and wondering how she seemed not to care about the fact that he was essentially a vampire. Everyone else on this shuttle either ignored him or gave him frequent wary glances. Some of the humans nearby were whispering about him in frantic voices, seeming to forget that he could hear and understand every word they said.

Thela returned and sat back down, sipped her drink and closed her eyes in a content gesture. He noticed that it was the Andorian version of lemonade. "This is good, but it's better fresh." She nodded to his half empty glass. "How's yours?"

"It is… satisfactory. Does it not concern you that I am consuming blood?"

She shook her head and snorted slightly. "No."

He nodded in contemplation. "Fascinating."

"How is it fascinating? You do not mind that I eat meat, I don't mind that you drink blood."

His eyebrows rose sharply. "That is hardly an equal comparison."

"I think it is."

"Then you're crazy," one of the humans behind them snapped.

"You were listening to our conversation?" Spock's voice and demeanor had turned cool at the threatening tone in the other man's voice.

"Yes," the man answered. "Obviously." He eyed the glass in Spock's hand with absolute disgust. "I think that you and your kind are revolting."

"Who are you?" Thela asked, pointedly eyeing him with extreme disapproval.

"Marc Thompson."

"Well then, _Marc Thompson,_" Thela said coolly, "I don't think it's your place to say who is disgusting and who isn't. Everyone has different cultures and different biological needs. Just because Spock's happen to be different to yours does not automatically make him 'revolting'."

"Any sane person would think drinking blood is repulsive."

She raised her eyebrows at him; her face radiating complete and utter anger. "Any 'sane person' would back down right now and admit that they're being bigoted." She looked him up and down again, and her lip curled. "Obviously, you won't."

"Thela…" Spock began, intending to stop what was rapidly becoming a row, but Thompson spoke over him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You _know_ what it means," Thela countered, her tone glacial.

He glared at her, and abruptly changed the direction of conversation. "Why do you defend him? You've only just met."

She rolled her eyes. "I just told you; because you're too ready to judge him for what he is, without taking into account who he is."

"I don't need to know who he is," Thompson scoffed. "People like him, they're all the same. They're little better than animals."

"You're beginning to sound little better," Thela snarled.

"At least I don't drink the blood of people."

"I do not consume the blood of people," Spock finally defended himself, unable to keep a neutral position in the argument anymore.

"Of course you do. Everyone knows that vampires murder people and drink their blood."

"I am reformed; I consume only the blood of animals."

"Of course," Thompson sneered. "I should have known you were the type to prey on innocent beasts."

"It is necessary for us to survive."

"Maybe you shouldn't; maybe your race should just let itself die out."

One of the stewardesses walked over, interrupting what would have been a furious insult from Thela. "Excuse me, is there a problem?" She directed her question at Thompson, ignoring Spock and Thela completely.

"Yes," Thompson replied. "Him."

"He hasn't done anything!" Thela sputtered.

The attendant ignored her. "What _exactly_ is the problem sir?"

"I don't want to sit so near him."

The attendant was beginning to grow impatient. "Why not?"

"He hasn't done anything!" Thela repeated in outrage.

The woman glared at her frostily. "Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask that you stay out of this."

"I don't want to sit next to that _blood drinker_!" Thompson exclaimed, raising his voice and causing everyone in the shuttle to turn around curiously."

"Sir, I assure you; there is no danger…"

Thompson interrupted her. "The hell there isn't! I refuse to sit next to him!"

"Then you should move," Thela said acidly.

"No."

"Then you have a problem," the attendant said dryly.

"Can't you move _him_?" Thompson spoke as though his solution were blindingly obvious.

"He paid for this ticket like everybody else!"

"Ma'am, I will not ask you again."

Thela rolled her eyes in irritation.

"Well will you move him or not?!" Thompson yelled; thoroughly angry by now and making no attempt to hide it.

The attendant turned to Spock reluctantly. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to move in order to keep the peace."

"Hang on…" Thela began, but was interrupted.

"Weren't you told to shut up, Andorian?" Thompson asked smugly.

"You're acting like a spoiled child," Thela snapped.

"Ma'am, _please_. Sir, would you mind moving to that corner?" She pointed to an empty area of the shuttle.

Spock stood up and began gathering his bags, not wanting to cause a commotion. All he had wanted was a quiet journey. To his surprise, Thela gathered up her bags as well and moved into the corner with him.

"See you both at the Academy," Thompson sneered.

Thela swore under her breath in Andorian. "The great news never ends."

Spock sat down next to her and placed the bags by his feet. "Obviously the next few years will be an… interesting experience."

"Damn right," Thela grumbled. Her antennae quivered in irritation and anger. "He shouldn't be allowed in Star Fleet. Its members are supposed to be non-prejudiced."

"That is very rarely the reality."

She sighed. "We live in crazy times."

Some time later, Earth loomed up ahead of them and rapidly grew larger. Thela stared transfixed at the swirls of blue and white that made up the atmosphere and covered the land that lay within.

"It's beautiful," she breathed, all the anger of before already forgotten.

Spock nodded in agreement. "The humans are privileged to have a planet so rich in life."

"I'm glad that they realized before Global warming and World War Three got out of hand."

"As am I." His mother would never have been born if the Earth had continued down its destructive route.

There was a shudder as the shuttle landed, and the seats rattled once again. The voice of the pilot came onto the speaker. "Gentle beings, we thank you for flying with us and hope that you have a pleasant stay."

Slowly, everyone began to file out, but Thompson yanked Spock back so that he almost knocked over Thela, who had been standing behind him. Thompson glared down his nose at him and stalked out of the shuttle, wiping his hands on his jacket as though they were contaminated.

"I hate him already," Thela hissed.

Together, they climbed out of the shuttle and found themselves in the bustling shuttle craft station of San Francisco. Bewildered, they looked around and saw a sign saying "Star Fleet Academy" on it.

"A whole door just for us," Thela joked as they strolled through.

They found the shuttle to be already waiting, and climbed swiftly aboard. "Surprisingly efficient," Spock remarked.

"They definitely don't waste time here, do they?"

They sat down next to a man with dark hair, blue eyes and a terrified expression. He was clutching the bottom of his seat, and his skin was taught over his bones.

"I wish they wouldn't be so damned efficient," he grumbled with a strong southern accent. "These shuttle crafts are death traps. One wrong move and we become the galaxy's biggest barbecue."

"Cheery," Thela muttered.

"These shuttle crafts are perfectly safe," Spock said, attempting to reassure him.

The man scowled at him. "You won't be saying that when we're turning cartwheels and your stomach drops out of your mouth."

Spock raised an incredulous pair of eyebrows. "The odds for my stomach exiting my body through my mouth are approximately 6471.2 to one."

The man glared at Spock's pointed ears. "I knew it," he whispered to himself miserably. "It's an _expression_, I'm a doctor; I know that it's impossible."

"A doctor?" Thela asked, instantly interested.

"That's right. Doctor Leonard McCoy. This is my first year." He chuckled at her surprised expression. "Let's just say that I signed up late, miss…"

"Thela," she supplied. "This is Spock," she added, before the Vulcan could say so himself.

"Pleased to meet you both," McCoy said sincerely, reaching out to shake their hands. The shuttle jerked and his hand flew back to the seat. "Damn pilots; never give a man a warning when they're going on a dangerous journey."

"This is a routine flight," Spock reminded him.

"That's what they all say," McCoy grumbled darkly.

Thela exchanged a glance with Spock and grinned.

"So what are two young kids like you doing in Star Fleet?" McCoy asked after a few minutes' silence.

"I want to explore. You know; see the unseen," Thela explained passionately.

McCoy grinned at her, his perfect white teeth flashing in the dim light. "Well now, that sure sounds poetic." He turned to Spock. "No wait, don't tell me. You want to study new scientific theories and new life."

Spock attempted to keep the surprise off his face and only partially succeeded. "Correct. May I ask how you knew?"

McCoy grimaced. "Let's just say that I've heard a _lot_ of scientists say that to me, and you look like a sciency type."

"Sciency type?"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Someone who likes science. Personally, I don't understand the appeal of working on a bucket of bolts and metal held together with a few screws. It's a sure fire way of getting yourself killed."

"Then it is highly illogical of you to seek a career in space, Doctor."

"I know that," McCoy replied.

"Then why did you join?" Thela asked, her curiosity piqued.

"My ex-wife," McCoy growled by way of explanation. "A woman like that can drive anyone into space. She turned the whole planet against me!"

"Surely that is an exaggeration."

McCoy glared at Spock. "Of _course_ it's an exaggeration. Although by the frosty feel of things back home; it may as well be true."

"So Star Fleet is an escape," Thela deduced, a look of profound sympathy in her eyes.

"That's right." The shuttle jerked once more. "I'm beginning to seriously regret it though."

"If you should regret your decision, you should resign."

McCoy gazed at Spock as though he had suggested he jump the Grand Canyon. "What, and go back to _her_?" McCoy snorted. "I prefer this kind of torture any day."

"Then I fail to see why you feel the need to complain."

McCoy peered at Spock as though seeing him for the first time. He shook his head in a mixed gesture of exasperation and humour. "I suppose I enjoy complaining."

"Highly illogical."

McCoy slumped in his chair. "I can see that this trip is going to be a bundle of laughs."

Spock's eyebrows, which had just resumed their normal stance, flew up to his hairline once more. "I do not understand the need for sarcasm, nor do I understand how you expect a laugh to form a bundle."

McCoy groaned and Thela smothered a giggle inside a cough. "Fascinating."

"I'm glad you think so," McCoy replied with little enthusiasm."

Spock cocked his head to one side. "Then we are in agreement?"

"Yes," Thela answered, although the question was directed at McCoy.

"Will someone _please_ tell me what I'm supposed to be agreeing with?" McCoy drawled, glancing at both of them in turn.

"That emotional behaviour is fascinating," Thela supplied.

McCoy grunted noncommittally. "That's one way of putting it."

"What other description exists?" Spock asked.

"Do I have to answer?" McCoy retorted in exasperation.

"Yes," Thela chuckled, grinning wickedly. McCoy gave her an annoyed glare.

"How about damn confusing?" McCoy asked at last.

"Interesting. You are an emotional being, yet you do not understand emotional behaviour."

"Do you understand all Vulcan behaviour?"

"An interesting question, however I fail to see its relevance."

"Of course you would," McCoy drawled.

"I see that you two are getting all cozy with that piece of dirt."

"Him again," Thela growled.

"'Me again'." Thompson smirked.

"You just don't know when to stop, do you?" Thela asked angrily.

"You two know him?" McCoy asked, eyebrows raised.

"We shared the shuttle from Vulcan," Spock explained.

"I wouldn't exactly call it 'shared'." Thompson snapped his expression full of loathing. "You weren't wanted there- you forced yourself into the shuttle."

Spock raised an eyebrow, fully irritated with this man's attitude and unwilling now to even attempt to hide it. "I purchased a ticket. The desires of the other shuttle occupants were irrelevant."

"You think," Thompson laughed, looking amused at what he saw to be Vulcan stupidity, "that it was irrelevant that we all hated your guts?"

"I don't hate him," Thela pointed out angrily.

"You're an Andorian, you don't really count," Thompson sneered, and Thela turned deep blue with anger.

"You've got no right to talk to them like that!" McCoy growled, coming instantly to their rescue.

"I don't see a rule saying I can't." He looked McCoy up and down with arrogant judgment. "Who are you anyway?"

"_Doctor_ Leonard McCoy," he replied, stressing the title.

"A witch doctor? You think that gives you the authority to tell me what to do?"

"Someone has to tell people like you when to stop."

Thompson laughed. "I don't even have to listen to you."

"Then you are extremely unwise," Spock interjected.

"I wasn't talking to you, _leech_. This doesn't concern you."

"That is an extremely immature method of insult."

Thompson grimaced at him. "You wouldn't know; your kind wouldn't know mature if it kicked you in the face."

"I don't want to rain on your bigoted parade, _cadet_, but in case you hadn't noticed; Vulcans are the most mature race in the known galaxy." McCoy was red in the face with anger by now.

Thompson threw back his head and laughed raucously. "God, 'Vulcans'? You really are stupider than you look!" He began walking away, chuckling. "You wouldn't see the truth if it bit you in the neck."

"You couldn't find his brain if it was wearing a ten foot pole and he came with a map to his head," McCoy muttered under his breath.

"An interesting metaphor." Luckily, the Doctor had apparently ignored the comment about the 'truth'.

McCoy inclined his head in a mock bow and grinned. "I like to be creative. So who was he?"

"Marc Thompson," Thela replied, hatred dripping from her voice as though it were tangible. "I think he's in our year."

"The fun never ends," McCoy groaned.

"It hasn't even begun yet," Thela added darkly.

"Do you know what subjects that goon is taking? Hopefully he'll be far away from us."

"No," Thela and Spock said regretfully.

"Well, it looks like we'll find out soon." The Doctor pointed out of the window, and they had their first view of Star Fleet Academy.

Surrounded by grass and various bodies of water, the building rose majestically out of the Earth as though it had always existed there, yet conveyed a distinct impression of newness. The windows all glinted in the sunlight like glass diamonds, and students bustled around the grounds in their red uniform, creating a living pattern that was constantly on the go.

Public transport continuously ferried new cadets to the various entrance halls before scuttling out of sight once more and leaving them to their destinies. From the shuttle, all three future cadets had a perfect view of where they would soon live; and the first impression had been fantastic.

Once the shuttle landed, the first year cadets nervously followed those of older years through the front doors and into the main hall. One by one their names were called out and they were given a map of the campus and told where their cabins were. Uniforms had already been sent to their rooms.

"Spock?" A plump professor was standing beside a table, upon which dozens of data pads vied for space.

"I am Spock."

The teacher squinted at his file, looking confused. "How do you pronounce that surname of yours?"

"It is unpronounceable to humans, sir. If necessary, it is acceptable to call me 'Grayson'; my mother's maiden name."

"No, there's another Grayson on the list. I'll call you Spock to avoid confusion if that's alright with you?"

He nodded. "Of course."

The teacher didn't even look up as he gave him a map and a timetable. "Your room is here," he pointed. "You'll be sharing with Marc Thompson."

Spock's eyebrows drew together in confusion and slight alarm. "I was informed that I would have private quarters."

"Everyone shares, or there aren't enough rooms to go around."

"In that event, is it possible to share with a Kesarahn?"

The professor shook his head, apparently irritated that this discussion was taking so long and that a large queue was forming behind the cadet. "There are no new Kesarahn cadets this year. We can't move you in with an older Kesarahn cadet because everyone stays with their own year group. It promotes socializing and teamwork."

"I do not believe that you understand, sir." To his dismay, the teacher continued to look blank. "My… condition is mentioned in my file."

A look of dawning comprehension finally appeared on the professor's face. "You're the one who was worried about harming fellow students."

Spock winced inwardly at the professor's bluntness, but outwardly showed no reaction. "Yes."

"Not to worry, I'm sure your room mate can defend himself."

"I respectfully maintain that a change of quarters is necessary."

"There's nothing I can do; we have no spares." It was clear that the man did not understand at all.

"I see."

The professor beamed, clearly under the impression that the incident was resolved and that everybody would be satisfied. "Good. Move along please." He glanced at the list and then into the queue. "McCoy?"

As Doctor McCoy walked forwards, Spock marched out the room, now officially dismissed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** For those of you who wondered, the words in itallic at the beginning of the last chapter were from the song 'beautiful' by Christina Aguilera. Obviously, I don't own the song, and get no profit from using it.

_I am beautiful  
No matter what they say  
Words can't bring me down._

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The room was empty when Spock arrived, although there was evidence of Thompson's belongings scattered around one half. He claimed the bed near a window and began methodically placing his clothing in the empty wardrobe nearby. On the desk he placed an alarm clock, and a private electronic pad with reading material stored on it. Finally, he placed the suitcase under his bed.

Straightening up again, he surveyed the room. To the left of the main door there were two shelving units perpendicular to each other that were used to store exercise or textbooks, as well as extra curricular reading. As you walked in, directly in front of the door but several paces away was Thompson's writing desk and chair. Beyond that was his wardrobe.

To the left of Thompson's wardrobe was his bed, which had his suitcase on top of it; its contents was spilling messily onto the duvet. The far left of the room contained two windows, with Spock's desk and chair placed parallel to the one in the corner. To the right of the table and chair was a wardrobe containing Spock's clothes, and the Vulcan's bed was positioned in front of it.

A door directly ahead of Spock's bed led to the bathroom, which was in the lower left corner and contained all of the necessities.

Deciding that he would prefer to be away from Thompson at the moment, Spock exited the room and walked down the corridor to gym number one. He had of course already memorized the map and left it on his desk.

The gym was fairly large and included shower and locker facilities, punch bags, weights, running, cross training and rowing machines as well as water fountains and paper towels at frequent intervals. The other gyms on campus would include the facilities that this gym lacked, such as an area for self defense training and anti-gravity chambers.

Looking around, he saw that many of the elder students were exercising there as the first year students were no doubt still exploring the grounds. Since it was Saturday evening San Francisco time, they had the next day to get to know everybody and settle in before the lessons on Monday.

As he surveyed the room he quickly became aware of the fact that everybody within the room had an elevated pulse. A young female cadet sashayed past him towards her locker, and he could see the red flush in her cheeks after exercise. Her breathing was quicker than average, and he could practically envision the heart pumping the blood around her body rapidly.

His fingers twitched and he was suddenly almost overwhelmed by his instincts, which all screamed at him to attack now, while her back was turned and she was tired from exertion. He clamped down on the thoughts and, body stiff from tension; he left the room and stepped out into the relative quiet of the corridor.

His stomach growled, so he obediently turned around and made his way to the closest mess hall, holding his breath whenever someone walked too close to him. He received some curious glances along the way.

To his relief, the hall was relatively quiet due to the fact that it was still too early for most to eat, and he was able to find himself a table near a window. Looking down, he saw a drink in his hands, but found that he could barely remember ordering one from the machine.

He sipped the cool liquid and gazed outside at the Academy grounds, where groups of cadets sat sprawling on the lush green grass, talking or watching a game of casual football that was taking place nearby. The window was open, and he could hear the shouts that came from the match.

One blond haired and athletic looking cadet dribbled down the field almost expertly, weaving in and out of anyone who got in his way. He grinned as he neared the rectangular goal, and kicked. Everyone on the pitch watched with bated breath as the ball soared towards the goalie, who prepared to jump. At the last minute the ball curved and hit the post, rebounding into the distance.

The blond haired cadet's smile became a look of disbelief. "That was going in!"

The goalie chuckled and slapped him on the back. "Better luck next time Jim."

The cadet mumbled something under his breath and retreated further down the field. The goalie reappeared and booted the ball to one of his team mates, who was further up the pitch.

A defender tackled him almost before the ball hit the ground, and passed it to an attacker from the same team, who took a shot at the goal. The ball skimmed the goalie's outstretched fingertips by mere centimeters.

The cadet named Jim ran up to his friend and gave him a congratulatory high five. Spock watched the exchange in confusion- not understanding what appeared to be a strange form of greeting used in a situation where the people involved clearly knew each other.

A group of female cadets walking past watched the game in keen interest, taking care not to be hit when the football came soaring in their direction. It rolled to a stop at the feet of one of the cadets, who bent down and picked it up. The goalie jogged over and flashed the girl a smile, and Spock noticed with some interest that she blushed as she gave him the ball. He winked at her and jogged back to the game, leaving her with friends who looked distinctly jealous.

As the game resumed play, Spock noticed that the goalie and the cadet name Jim appeared to tease each other at regular intervals, apparently close friends, while everyone else appeared to be keeping talking to a minimum, and did not look exactly at ease with each other. Perhaps this was a game of new cadets, Spock reflected.

As the grounds became cloaked in darkness and Spock finished his drink, the match drew to a close. He placed his cup in the rubbish bin and made his way back to his quarters, reluctantly realizing that it would soon be night time.

Over the years, he had of course got used to sleeping during the night in order to continue his education, which had been a long and draining process. However, determination had won, although he still enjoyed the quiet peacefulness of the night and coolness of air to the noise, bustle and heat of the day. Now that he was on Earth, which was a much cooler planet than Vulcan, he did not think that the daytime heat would remain a problem, although he would have to adjust to the increased noise level.

He found himself dawdling in the corridor and realized that he was feeling something akin to nervousness or trepidation about facing Thompson, who would probably find some excuse to verbally abuse him. Drawing on the Vulcan stoicism from his upbringing, he braced himself and walked into the quarters.

Finding the room empty, he moved over to his bed and sat down, taking out his personal reading pad. For several minutes there was a blessed silence in which he read a report on new discoveries published in a scientific journal, and found himself lost in complex calculations and physics.

The peacefulness would not last.

The door opened and Thompson stormed in, looking angry enough to kill. If there had been an old fashioned door he would have slammed it.

The calm atmosphere was shattered instantly.

"Apparently I have to share with you leech, so let me make one thing clear; I don't _want _to and I will _not_ take any of your vampire crap."

"That much is obvious."

Thompson's nostrils flared. "If you so much as _look_ at any of my stuff or _think_ about laying your dirty hands on any of it, you'll wish you'd never been born. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

Thompson glared at him malevolently, then sat on his bed and took out a music device with old fashioned head phones. Turning away from Spock, he turned the sound up so that Spock could hear it from across the room and began writing. Presumably it was a letter of complaint to whoever was unlucky enough to receive it.

A quick glance at the clock later and Spock was ready for sleep, but continued reading, unwilling to let his guard down in front of Thompson. The music stopped abruptly and Spock looked up to see his room mate dressed in regulation pyjamas and packing his things away. Wordlessly, he put his pad onto his desk and lay on top of the bedcovers, savoring the cool evening air that seeped through the window.

Thompson stalked over and slammed the window shut. "Are you trying to _freeze_ me out or something?"

Spock was the very picture of puzzled innocence. "I was unaware that you found the current temperature uncomfortable."

His room mate snorted and walked back to his own bed. "That was a transparent lie if ever I saw one."

Spock had the sense to keep his thoughts to himself and turned the main light off. To his dismay, a smaller lamp was instantly turned on and Thompson rummaged around in a drawer in his desk.

"My I ask what you're doing?"

Without turning around, Thompson produced and old fashioned book and threw his answer over his shoulder, his voice hostile in the extreme. "Reading. Got a problem with that?"

"Yes; it is 2300 hours."

"I thought you slept during the day in a coffin in a dark corner somewhere," Thompson sneered.

"That would be highly illogical considering that I rest at night, not during the day as is the common belief."

"So you pretend to be normal, then."

"Given the diverse natures of alien beings," Spock pointed out in annoyance, "there is no longer a true definition of 'normal'."

"There _is_, but your race doesn't fit it."

Spock cocked his head to the side, not heeding the warning signals in Thompson's body language. "Fascinating. What is your definition of normal?"

"A species that doesn't drink blood," Thompson spat as if it were obvious. "_You_ are the walking definition of a freak."

"I cannot help what I am."

"Don't even bother trying. It'll be a cold day in hell before anyone ever accepts your race." Thompson lay back onto his bed and turned away from Spock, signaling that the conversation was over.

Spock could not leave it at that. "I consider that prediction to be highly unlikely."

"That's the whole _point_."

Spock's raised eyebrows joined the cocked head to create a perfect image of puzzlement. "An interesting method of stating beliefs."

Thompson gave up trying to ignore him and turned over sharply, turning cold eyes to the Vulcan. "Do you know what your problem is? You won't stop. With each word you convince me that you're not even worth the dirt you'll be buried in. I shouldn't even be wasting my time explaining this, but you're clearly too stupid to notice that I don't _want_ to talk to you. I wouldn't even look at you if I had my way." He turned the lamp off, and plunged the room into darkness.

This time, Spock did not utter a word.


	3. Chapter 3

_I am beautiful  
In every single way  
Yes, words can't bring me down  
So don't you bring me down today_

Morning was announced by the birds, and Spock instantly awoke, his surroundings quickly reminding him of where he was. Looking around, he noticed that Thompson was lying sprawled on his back in bed, snoring softly. Quietly, he showered, changed and then left the quarters, not desiring to be in the same room as a man that had rapidly become his enemy.

He managed to find a quiet bench in the school grounds and sat down, drinking in the sight of the campus before the other students arrived. The sky overhead was a bright cloudless blue, with the occasional bird wheeling overhead and chirping joyfully at the fresh promise of a new day. The air was still cool and with a slight breeze that caused him to shiver slightly, but the bright yellow sun promised of warmer weather to come. A lone jogger ran past, scaring away birds that had congregated on the path.

The silence was shattered by something landing on Spock's back and drenching him.

Startled, he leapt to his feet just in time to see Thompson's laughing face ducking back into their shared room. A few students who had just walked out of the front door were staring at the remains of the water balloon with disgust, whilst others laughed fit to bust.

Dripping wet, he walked back into the Academy, leaving his own version of a snail trail behind him. Just as he was nearing his room, a voice stopped him in his tracks.

"What happened?" Thela asked, hurriedly walking towards him.

"Cadet Thompson dropped a water filled balloon onto me from the window to our quarters."

McCoy appeared beside her, looking disgusted at something. "Thompson just came out of his room laughing about dropping a water bomb on someone…" he took in Spock's appearance.

Thela confirmed McCoy's unspoken question. "He dropped it out of their window."

"'Their'?" McCoy quoted. "You have to share quarters with that Jackass?" His eyes soon became filled with sympathy when Spock nodded. "You should ask for a transfer."

"I have."

"You should ask again, maybe they'll listen since you just got bombed," Thela suggested.

"That won't work. Thompson could be heard boasting about the prank across the corridor, but everyone just ignored him, even the professors."

"We'll have to fight this battle ourselves," Thela muttered.

"This would hardly classify as a 'battle'." Spock opened his door and actually stopped with his foot in the air in shock, halfway through a step when he caught sight of their room.

McCoy and Thela appeared behind him, and McCoy swore under his breath as he saw that one side of the room was completely trashed; the clothes and academic objects lying scattered everywhere.

"You're right Spock, this is more like a war," McCoy drawled as he surveyed the mess.

Spock began picking things up and placing them back in the drawers, but Thela stopped him. "We'll do that, you just get dry and find a change of clothes."

Not in any mood to argue, he just nodded and hunted through the mess for some clothes. When he returned a few minutes later, dry and changed, he saw that the mess was completely cleared away. He raised an eyebrow in surprise at the speed of his new friends.

"What can I say, Andorians are fast movers," Thela explained, grinning. "Do either of you want breakfast?"

"If I told you that your question was completely out of the blue and had nothing to do with the conversation, would you hold it against me?"

"No, because I'm hungry," she told McCoy. "I don't hold grudges on an empty stomach.

"Right." McCoy looked around as they walked down the corridor and took out his map of the complex. "So we're here…" he stabbed the paper more viciously than intended. "Where's the damn sign for the mess hall?"

"It is a symbol depicting eating utensils."

"I knew _that_, thank you Spock, I just couldn't _find_ it. I'm a doctor, not a navigator."

"Obviously," the Vulcan replied dryly.

McCoy jumped backwards suddenly, finding himself face to face with a door that he had just avoided walking into.

Thela laughed at him. "Watch out, there's a door."

"Thanks for the helpful advice."

"You're welcome," Thela replied, beaming at the disgruntled doctor.

Together they walked into the mess hall and ordered their food from a replicator. Spock noted with some surprise that a variety of dishes were available to cadets from Kesarah, though there was a restriction on what he himself could order. Luckily, instead of the meager glass of blood, it also came in forms of soup, and food cubes as well as a hot drink. He ordered the cubes, which appeared on his plate melted together and wobbling like a red jelly.

To his left, McCoy banged his fist on the side of the replicator, while holding a bizarre mixture of salmon and ice cream. "You call this _toast?!_"

"It appears that the replicators are malfunctioning."

McCoy glanced at him. "Oh really? I thought that maybe there were- I don't know- _gremlins_ inside sabotaging our meals and eating the wires."

"I find your hypothesis unlikely."

McCoy banged his head on the panel in front of him and kept it there, muttering to himself miserably under his breath. "Murphey's Law is working in over drive…"

"My meal's fine," Thela said smugly, waving it under McCoy's nose.

"Yours _would_ be," came the cryptic reply.

"I am unfamiliar with 'Murphey's Law'."

"It means that anything that can go wrong will go wrong," McCoy explained, removing his head from the panel and scanning the room.

"That is illogical. The odds of such a sequence of events occurring are…"

"Please, spare me the numbers. I'm not in the mood." McCoy saw Spock's plate for the first time. "Jelly for breakfast?"

"It was the result of a malfunction."

"You too huh?" McCoy asked in sympathy. "Where's a mechanic when you need one?" He batted Thela away as she waved her plate in front of him once again.

"I believe that I can repair the replicators." Spock had already opened the paneling and was fiddling with the wires.

"I though you were a scientist." Both Thela and McCoy said simultaneously.

"It was often necessary for me to repair the replicator in my family home."

"Maybe we should get a technician," Thela suggested as sparks began coming from the console and Spock narrowly avoided singeing his eyebrows.

"I am capable of completing the repair without assistance."

He reached out into the wiring, concentration all over his face as he twiddled with the mechanics of the machine.

"That looks fiddly."

"Knowing these damn machines, if he makes one wrong move the whole thing will explode," McCoy muttered.

"Essentially, you are correct."

The doors opened and Thompson strode in, took one look at Spock, who was now lying on the floor underneath the machine in order to reach the wires, and walked over.

"Here comes the gorilla," McCoy muttered, but Spock did not hear his warning.

Thompson made as if to step over Spock, but at the last moment dragged his foot into Spock's side and pretended to stumble. The distraction caused the wrong wires to touch each other, and there was a loud fizzing and banging, followed by a flash of light.

"Watch where you're lying, leech. You almost tripped me up." Thompson walked away with his head held high to his laughing friends, who were cheering him on.

McCoy opened his mouth to start shouting after him, but Thela stopped him with a simple raised hand.

Spock emerged from underneath the console, and luckily the only part of him that was injured was his arm- which had burns up to the shoulder. McCoy soon began inspecting it, but did not seem too worried. He dug into the emergency first aid kit on a nearby wall and began applying some of the contents to the battered arm in front of him, whilst swearing under his breath in aggravation.

"Perhaps more extensive repairs will be necessary," Spock said dryly as he surveyed the wreckage before him.

McCoy looked at the smoking machine and nodded in agreement. "It's definitely dead, Spock."

"As it was not a living being to begin with, I fail to see how it can be dead."

"It's another expression," Thela explained.

"I'm finished. Try to go easy with it for a while until it heals." McCoy snapped the kit shut and moved away from the arm.

"Thank you Doctor."

"Just doing my job."

The technician chose that moment to stroll through the door, apparently not expecting to see a destroyed replicator in front of him. He immediately saw Spock's singed sleeve and put two and two together.

"What did you _do?_" He asked angrily, pulling himself under the machine.

"I was attempting to repair it."

"Next time cadet, call me before you go tearing my machines to pieces."

"Assistance was not necessary."

"If it wasn't before you got here, it sure is now," the muffled voice snapped. "Go on, beat it before something else breaks or the floor self combusts."

Hiding a grin, Thela led the other two out of the door. They walked once again into a bustling corridor. "Let's try somewhere else."

McCoy opened up his map again, turning it this way and that before shoving it back in his pocket. "I give up."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "If you had persisted you would have discovered that there is anther refectory nearby."

"You know your way round already?" McCoy sputtered.

"Of course."

"You could have told me before I almost walked into a door back there!"

"I was of the opinion that it was logical to allow you to learn how to use a map."

Thela shook her head in amusement, but her eyes grew wide as she caught sight of the time. "I'm late!"

"What for? This is our second day." McCoy asked, completely sidetracked from his argument with Spock.

"I promised my room mate I'd meet her outside. She wants to see the city and I said I'd go with her." She began walking away. "See you tomorrow!"

"Wait," McCoy scurried after her. "You can't leave me alone with him, we'll kill each other!" He had forgotten that Spock was still in hearing range and could hear his whining.

She grinned encouragingly at him. "You'll be fine. I've got to go…" She gave a small wave to Spock and walked away.

"I assure you that we will not 'kill each other'." Spock assured McCoy as the Doctor sidled back to him.

"You heard that? You must have the hearing of a bat."

"Contrary to popular belief, bats actually use sonar to navigate."

The Doctor groaned wearily. "This is exactly what I meant when I said we'd kill each other."

"I do not understand."

"We keep arguing."

Spock's eyebrows rose once again. "I was unaware that we were arguing."

"Oh Lord… Congratulations Spock, you just proved me wrong."

"How so?"

McCoy sighed. "We won't kill each other, but you're going to kill _me_."

"I assure you that is not my intention."

"Maybe not, but it will happen anyway."

"I fail to see how."

McCoy looked skyward, as though pleading for mercy. "Never mind. Let's just get breakfast." He looked warily at Spock out the corner of his eye. "Try not to break anything."

"I shall endeavor not to do so."

"Somehow, I don't think that'll cut it. I've known you for all of five minutes, but I can already tell that you're someone who attracts trouble like a magnet."

"I never try to do so."

McCoy grinned grimly. "They all say that."

"'They'?"

McCoy sighed in exasperation at having to explain himself yet again. "The people I used to treat at the hospital where I worked. I always got the ones who didn't go looking for trouble but found it anyway."

They approached a replicator and scanned through the options for a while before choosing. This time the toast and red cubes appeared as expected, without a single hiccup.

"That's more like it!" McCoy announced through a mouthful of toast. "Not a single salmon or ice cream for miles around."

Spock almost sighed. "Would I be correct in surmising that any attempt on my part to remind you of the inaccuracy of your statement would be futile?"

McCoy chuckled. "You're learning fast."

"Of course."

They ate in companionable silence for a while, each man thinking his own thoughts. From the way that McCoy was gazing at a dark skinned first year cadet, Spock surmised that the human's thoughts were far away.

Spock on the other hand, gazed at the blood red cubes on his plate and suddenly felt unwilling to eat them. On the one hand he wished that he had remained on Vulcan with Sybok, and had never gone to Kesarah. His mother would still be alive, and his father would be less distant than he had become, and of course Thompson would not loathe him. He would be regarded as a Vulcan within the Academy, and would not have to deal with the guilt of consuming blood every mealtime, even if it was replicated.

On the other hand, a part of him was grateful that he had seen Kesarah and had a chance to explore a new world, even if it had ended in a double tragedy. He had been bitten by the space bug and from that point on, the desire to travel and explore new scientific discoveries and planets had increased within him, swelling to great proportions. However, the small part that was grateful for the experiences of Kesarah was often choked back by the guilt and remorseful memories that the planet held, and he was disgusted at himself whenever he saw his accident in any positive light at all.

Naturally, he considered himself to be responsible for what happened to him, and was disgusted that he could even consider being grateful for something that had changed him into what he considered at the time to be a bloodthirsty animal.

He also had his promise to Amanda to consider, and every time he thought of it the anger within himself grew. He had promised not to blame himself, yet that was what he was constantly doing. He no longer held the proverb 'Kaiidth' in high regard. It didn't have to be this way, and he had never been powerless to stop it. Future events could not be dictated; they depended upon the actions of those in the present. "Whatever is, is" was something that he could no longer accept. He wanted with all his being to change the past. He would never have become a blood drinker if he had not opened the trapdoor, and would not have been powerless or forced to accept his fate.

He poked his meal. He hated the aspect of himself that yearned for blood because of the death it had caused, yet he was still hurt by people like Thompson, who were bigoted towards him. He could accept his own self hatred but he could not accept the hatred of others. Perhaps it was not as illogical as it seemed. He hated himself for what he had done, but people like Thompson directed their hatred not to him as an individual, but to his race as a whole. They hated without knowing the individuals or taking the trouble to learn of them, while he hated himself because of what he knew.

A hand waved in front of his face and he looked up questioningly. "I asked if you were alright, Spock. You've been staring into space like a zombie for five minutes." He looked at Spock's mostly full bowl. "Aren't you hungry?"

"I do not require further nourishment," he answered automatically.

"You look green around the gills."

He found himself feeling confused once again, something that was beginning to happen more and more in McCoy's company. "I do not possess gills."

"I guess that's Vulcan for 'I'm fine'."

A cadet began making a beeline for their table, and Spock recognised him as the football player named Jim from the previous day.

"Hey Bones." The cadet said cheerily, lowering himself into a seat next to McCoy. "Seen any good salmon recently?"

McCoy groaned in humiliation. "How do you know about that?"

The cadet grinned. "News travels fast. The technician is furious."

"He has a good reason," McCoy answered.

"What did you do to the replicator anyway? You didn't try to put the salmon back _in_ did you?"

"You heard about that too?"

Kirk chuckled. "Gary told me. He was in the mess hall when you pressed the wrong button, swore up a storm and tried to shove the salmon back in. Apparently you looked furious."

"It was my first day here! You wants _that_ as a welcome present?"

"So what did you do this time, Bones?"

"Why do you always assume it was me?" McCoy asked with mock hurt. "It was Spock, not me."

The cadet turned to face the Vulcan and held out a hand. "Jim Kirk."

Spock raised an eyebrow and McCoy rolled his eyes. "_Now_ you decide to introduce yourself."

"Better late than never," Kirk shrugged.

"In answer to your query, I was attempting to affect repairs."

"Repairs?" Kirk snorted, his eyebrows shooting to his hairline. "The replicator looks like it exploded!"

"It did," McCoy grinned, but then his expression darkened. "Thompson kicked Spock, who got distracted and mucked up the job."

"Why'd he kick you?"

"I do not know."

"He has some personal vendetta against Spock," McCoy explained.

"Maybe he has one against everybody. I heard this morning that he dropped a water bomb on his room mate."

"_I_ am his room mate."

Kirk gave him a look of profound sympathy. "That's a match made in hell."

"It is," McCoy agreed grimly.

"Have you asked for a transfer?"

"I requested one when I arrived, but it was not possible."

"Keep at it," Kirk advised. "Maybe you'll be able to persuade them."

McCoy snorted. "Jim, that's like asking him to dig the Grand Canyon single handedly with a chisel!"

Kirk grinned. "It's difficult, but not impossible."

"You're insufferable," McCoy complained.

"For once Doctor, I believe you are correct," Spock agreed.

"What do you mean, 'for once'?"

"I think he means that you're never right," Kirk said helpfully.

"Very funny," McCoy drawled sarcastically.

"You have to admit it Bones; he's right. Look at what happened with the salmon yesterday. You got the code wrong."

"The codes were almost the _same_, for God's sake! I'm a doctor, not a computer expert!"

"I think everyone in the Academy knows that now."

"Shut up," McCoy growled at Kirk.

Kirk adopted his most innocent expression. "Am I annoying you?"

"Just a bit," McCoy growled back, but then immediately grinned.

"What?" Kirk asked warily. "You're planning something."

McCoy tried and failed to look innocent. "Who, me?"

"Last time you had that expression I was being attacked with hypos." He grimaced. "I didn't even need half of them."

"You had a serious case of the flu."

"Influenza does not require such an extensive amount of hypos, even in the most potent cases," Spock reminded him. McCoy glared in response.

"Thank you _Doctor_ Spock."

Oblivious to the underlying tension, Kirk continued to talk. "I still think it was more the fact that I'd accidentally trashed your bike the week before."

"Yeah? Well as your family doctor I had a duty to keep you alive," McCoy shot back unconvincingly.

"Definitely the bike then," Kirk nodded understandingly, but then smiled in mischief. "You shouldn't have parked it there; it was bound to get run over."

"Whatever Jim."

"You just happened to see me when I came to your office the next week and take revenge on me."

"The hypos wouldn't have been necessary if you hadn't caught the flu by swimming in the lake in December!"

Kirk grinned at the memory and shook his head. "Ah, good times." He turned to Spock to explain. "I never back down from a challenge. Besides, cold water never hurt anybody."

"Except you," McCoy pointed out.

"Yeah, but the water I swam in was _arctic_."

McCoy shook his head. "I don't know why I still bother arguing with you."

"It does appear to be a most futile exercise," Spock agreed.

"It runs in the family. If my father hadn't been so stubborn, he wouldn't have been captain."

"You're more stubborn than anyone else in your family," McCoy muttered.

"Exactly," Kirk grinned. "So I'll make a better captain."

"Modesty isn't your strongest point, Jim."

"Indeed," Spock agreed drily, trying to at least appear as though he were contributing to the conversation.

"I'm being ganged up upon!" Kirk complained.

"That's too bad," McCoy smirked.

"I get no sympathy around here," Kirk continued with a wounded expression.

"I wonder why."

"You're being a sarcastic wonder today, Bones," Kirk observed.

"Jim, you've known me long enough to know that I'm sarcastic a _lot_ of the time."

"It does appear to be true," Spock agreed. "I have been acquainted with the Doctor for 1.2 days and I have observed that he makes sarcastic comments approximately 75% of the time."

"Bones, that's a new record for you!" Kirk crowed, slapping his friend on the back in fake congratulations.

McCoy just snorted and brushed Jim's hand away from where it was slapping his shoulder continuously. "Just give me my medal now and I'll be happy to retire and go down in history."

"As the most sarcastic doctor in all living memory," Kirk chuckled.

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"A bit of both."

"Great," McCoy drawled.

Kirk was silent for a moment and seemed to contemplate the red cubes in Spock's bowl, a curious expression on his face. "What are they?"

"Cubes," Spock replied, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

McCoy snorted and muttered something inaudible to which Kirk glared. Spock was satisfied to note that his first conscious attempt at humour had not been a complete disaster.

"I meant what are the _cubes_ supposed to be?" Kirk asked in amusement.

"They are flavoured in the likeness of Kesarahn cuisine," he answered carefully, aware that he was on potentially rocky ground.

Kirk scrunched up his nose in distaste. "Gary tried that once."

"And?" McCoy prompted.

"He threw up."

"What dish did he attempt to consume?" Spock asked without thinking.

"It _looked_ kind of like jelly. Actually, he thought it _was_ jelly… until he tried it," Kirk guffawed. "He said it tasted like blood, which just made it funnier to watch."

An intrigued eyebrow rose. "Indeed? I fail to understand why you find humour in his distress."

"You had to be there."

"I'm glad I wasn't," McCoy grimaced.

"You're a doctor Bones."

"Thanks Jim, but funnily enough, I've already noticed that."

"No, I meant that you're supposed to be used to reactions like that. Vomiting everywhere; stuff like that."

"I was thinking more along the lines of blood flavoured jelly."

"Oh." Kirk's expression became more impish than ever. "Are you trying to hide that you're squeamish?"

"I'd like to see you find a squeamish doctor," McCoy growled.

Kirk looked around the room in mock concentration. "Hmmm… a squeamish doctor. Where _would_ I find one of those…" he stared at McCoy. "Someone afraid of blood? Hmmm, that's a tough one…"

"Shut up," McCoy glowered.

"There _has_ to be one around here somewhere," Kirk continued relentlessly.

"I'm laughing so hard my sides are splitting," McCoy replied, acid dripping from his voice.

"That would be an extremely undesirable, if not impossible, reaction."

McCoy stared at Spock incredulously. "Do I have to explain that phrase as well? Lord, after all those I explained this morning… Jim, I swear you could wrap me up in paper and call me a living thesaurus."

"Negative. I understand the meaning, despite your highly illogical phrasing, Doctor."

"I think I'm being insulted."

"Actually Bones, it's an insult to humanity as a whole, since they came up with the phrase, but probably a compliment to you."

"You're a real help, Jim. I get attacked by a joking Vulcan, and you sit there guffawing."

"I'm not _guffawing_," Kirk protested.

"You are not being attacked," Spock pointed out.

"You didn't deny that you were joking," McCoy said triumphantly.

"I surmised that it would be futile to do so."

"Because you know I'm right." McCoy's tone had become smug.

Spock sighed inwardly. "I did not attempt to correct you because I assumed that you would insist upon seeing that which is not there, despite my objections."

"Now _that_, Bones, was an insult."

"I know that by myself, but you're help is always welcome." McCoy was rolling his eyes at Kirk's talent for stating the obvious.

"Glad to be of service," Kirk said in a posh English accent, whilst mock bowing.

"Words fail me…" McCoy muttered, watching Kirk as he proceeded to chat with girls on the next table in his new found accent.

Spock decided not to comment on McCoy's contradictory words, and instead watched as the girls gazed at Kirk in slight confusion. The cadet did not appear to notice, but continued to talk to them in the same casual way that he always had, gesturing occasionally to emphasize his point. He noticed that McCoy watched as well, amusement flickering in his eyes and betraying the head shaking that he was currently doing.

"Let's leave him to it."

Kirk heard McCoy and flung a goodbye over his shoulder. "See you on Monday."

"Monday?" McCoy asked, momentarily confused as they walked through the doors after depositing their trays. "We don't have the same classes on Monday."

"Every cadet must participate in an exercise class prior to the lunch break," Spock reminded him, amazed that McCoy did not remember.

"P.E," the Doctor groaned. "I forgot about that."

"It occurs three sessions each week. I fail to see how you overlooked such an obvious addition to the timetable."

"So do I. Must be all these dodge ball memories that keep trying to haunt me."

"Dodge ball?"

"You haven't heard of it?" At Spock's expression, he sighed. "Great. Call me mister Dictionary."

"I would prefer not to."

"Do you want me to explain dodge ball or not?"

"I apologise for the interruption," Spock said respectfully.

"Basically, two teams stand at opposite ends of a room and throw balls at each other."

"Fascinating. It consists of no other rules of play?"

"Well it does, but I'm not the best to tell you. I was the worst in the class. Apparently I forgot the 'dodge' part." He shrugged. "Pretty useless thing to do at school if you ask me."

"It certainly appears to have no academic use."

"Unless you want to be a professional dodge ball player."

Spock almost stopped walking in surprise, but quickly recovered. "It is possible to become a professional in such an illogical past time?"

"Yes. I saw a film about something similar once. I think people entered a professional competition to win some prize money."

"Indeed? What was the title?"

"Dodge ball', McCoy said, grinning.

"Logical."

They explored the complex aimlessly for a while, and came across what seemed to be corridor upon corridor of classrooms or lecture theatres. Apart from the signs on the doors, each corridor could easily have been a clone of the original.

Occasionally there would be a break in the monotony of classroom doors, and they would come across another rec room, swimming pool, and other facilities. If it weren't for the fact that it was a building made for teaching, it could have been a successful holiday resort.

They turned another corner and came face to face with a dead end.

There was a single door opposite them, with a sign saying 'evaluation in process'. Somehow the whole sign seemed to make an otherwise ordinary door forbidding and dark. Obviously they could not go in, but it was unlikely that they would like whatever was inside.

To the average cadet about to enter, it must have seemed as though they were meeting a dark end at the gallows. Except that there was no one here. The area was deserted, but you could practically imagine the exam candidates as they waited anxiously. There was not a sound from inside, which eerily contrasted the bustle of the corridor from moment before.

"Curious." Spock's sudden announcement made McCoy twitch unexpectedly. Apparently the doctor had also noticed how strangely quiet it was. "The academic term has not yet commenced. I do not understand the need for evaluation."

"Maybe it's a resit."

"Unlikely' any such exams would ordinarily be completed before the new term."

A crashing sound suddenly shattered the silence.

This was then closely followed by violent booming noises and phaser banks firing. Small wisps of smoke curled from under the door and escaped to the ceiling. Yet no alarm went off.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were playing really loud video games."

"That is unlikely," Spock said drily.

"I know, because video games don't exist anymore, they don't produce smoke and they've never been used in exam rooms anyway."

There was a small thud as something heavy slammed into the door and began to slide slowly to the floor. Red liquid began oozing toward Spock's feet, and he recoiled, expecting the iron scent of human blood. He risked a step closer when all he could smell was chemicals.

"It is fake," he concluded, turning to McCoy. "A passable imitation of human blood."

McCoy stepped forward, gathered some on his finger and tasted it unwillingly. He spat it out, but looked relieved that it wasn't human blood. Spock eyed the puddle of spit pointedly with one eyebrow arched, but decided not to comment.

"You're right. Well, at least we know that nobody's getting murdered in there."

He stepped back away from the blood and over towards Spock, who was staring fixatedly at the crimson liquid. He felt a gnawing thirst rise within him, and a part of his mind felt cheated that this blood was fake. He immediately regretted not eating his breakfast, as he could hear McCoy's pulse as the other man got closer. Horrified at his lack of control, he closed his eyes so that he could not see his fellow cadet and stepped back two paces.

He felt a hand on his lower arm; warm, soft and pulsing with blood. He jerked himself free and opened his eyes. McCoy was looking at him in concern.

"Sorry, didn't mean to make you jump. I forgot for a second that you're probably a touch telepath." He looked at Spock more closely. "Are you alright? You look paler than a ghost."

Spock opened his mouth to reply, but clamped it shut again when he breathed in the scent of blood. All he could think of was the pulse in McCoy's neck, and he dared not open his mouth until he regained control. He closed his eyes again and nodded in McCoy's approximate direction in order to reassure the human.

He felt rather than saw a movement towards him, and once more took a step back. He was biting his tongue from the effort it took to regain control.

"You're not ill at the sight of blood are you?"

He risked a word. "Negative." Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes, relieved that for the moment the craving had disappeared. He must drink later, or his fellow cadets would be in danger.

"Spock?"

"I am fully functional."

"What happened?" McCoy asked in concern, still in doctor mode. "One minute you were fine; the next you looked like the walking dead." Spock did not answer, and the doctor sighed in frustration. "How do you expect me to help you if I don't know what's wrong?"

"I do not expect you to help me with my condition."

"Condition?" McCoy repeated with some alarm, and Spock instantly regretted his phrasing. "You didn't mention it before."

"It was irrelevant."

"Well it's damn well relevant now. You can tell me, I'm a doctor."

Spock considered for a moment. Perhaps McCoy should know, considering that so far they had spent a lot of time together and were likely to do so in the future. In that case, he'd need to know what was happening if Spock lost control in his presence, and should be able to stop him before it got out of hand.

However, since Kesarah he had been living on a planet full of Vulcans, each and every one of them with heart beats and unresisting demeanors, which was infinitely more tempting than the average human. He had never attacked anybody after his mother; his fear had seen to that.

He could certainly control himself, he had just proven it. A small nagging voice in the deep realms of his mind warned him that once he told McCoy his secret, word would spread and he would no longer be accepted, although perhaps Thompson had already seen to that. He remembered their earlier conversation about Kesarahn blood jelly, and McCoy's horrified expression. Yet what was acceptance compared to the safety of others? It was a difficult decision, but he had his answer.

"I prefer not to discuss it."

McCoy cursed under his breath. "What if I need to know? I don't mean to use a worn out cliché, but aren't we friends? Shouldn't you tell me?"

"We have not been acquainted for a long period of time," he pointed out, aware of the fact that they did not really know each other and as such could not yet be classed as 'friends'.

McCoy jerked as though he had been slapped in the face. "So that's it, is it? You don't trust me? It's possible to be friends in a short space of time, you know."

"Nevertheless, I do not wish to discuss it."

"Suit yourself," McCoy grunted, turning away.

Another thud as something hit the door, and Spock was briefly reminded of his mother as she lay cold under his hands while he drank her blood without mercy.

"Doctor…" McCoy turned back to him stonily. "I apologise…" his inexperience with human emotional issues was woefully inadequate, and he soon realized that he was out of his depth. "My condition is simply… not spoken of."

"At all?" McCoy asked disbelievingly. "I've probably heard of it, Spock. If you're worried that I'll tell anybody, you're wrong; doctor/patient confidentiality."

"I am not your patient."

"I know, but one day you might be." He pointed to Spock's still healing arm. "I've already treated you for that, what if something more serious happens?"

Spock opened his mouth to explain everything to the man before him, unable to deny his logic and realizing that he'll probably hear it from Thompson anyway, when the door slammed open.

They both stood aside as people began to file out, talking animatedly to one another.

"We need more enemy ships."

"I agree, Paul. The fake blood could also be better; we want the cadets to believe that this is real."

Paul suddenly noticed them, and Spock saw that his badge identified him as Professor P. Hanley. "What are you two cadets doing here?"

Immediately they snapped to attention, all eyes fixed upon them. "We apologise sirs," McCoy began, but was interrupted by Hanley.

"You're not supposed to be here. It's restricted."

"With all due respect sir," Spock began, "we did not know that it was restricted. We are new here."

Hanley surveyed them with narrow eyes, but seemed to believe them. "All right, I'll believe you this once, but don't come here again unless specifically told to do so. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

He stayed where he was and watched until they had disappeared around the corner. They were immediately swallowed by the crowd of cadets.

"It doesn't mention anything about being restricted," McCoy muttered, craning his neck in search of a sign. As the crowd thinned, he saw one, but it was placed in an area that could not easily be seen. "Well a fat lot of help that is. Do you know what that room was?"

Spock mentally recalled the map of Academy grounds that he had memorized. "It was not included on the issued map; however I believe that it may be the Kobayashi Maru simulation area."

"The unbeatable test?" McCoy asked incredulously.

"Yes. It is logical to assume that they are improving the simulation before cadets are required to take it."

"I don't like the sound of that."

Spock recalled the thundering and clanging that they had heard earlier. "It does appear to be… realistic."

On their way down the corridor, they passed a window which looked out onto the grounds at the front of the building. The grass was green as ever, while the friendly yellow sun hovered innocently in mid-air. There were hardly any clouds in the sky, which was a perfect blue.

As they walked past, discussing what they had just seen, it seemed as though McCoy had completely forgotten what Spock had been about to tell him. However, there was no doubt that McCoy, who was an observant man, would discover the secret for himself one day, and Spock found himself dreading the outcome.

Illogical as it was, he could not bear to tell the man before him, for he feared the loss of his sudden and new found acceptance. It was selfish, but he had become used to being an outcast, and to suddenly be accepted without question was almost too fantastic to be true.


	4. Chapter 4

_To all your friends, you're delirious  
So consumed in all your doom  
Trying hard to fill the emptiness_

Their first ever lesson at the Academy being self defense, the cadets had a right to be nervous as they waited outside the gym. Everyone was dressed in approved sports clothing; practically t-shirts and shorts of a decent length. Some cadets actually looked hopeful and nervously expectant at what this class would entail, Thompson being one of them. They were the muscled, confident and quick-minded cadets that generally took an interest in security, despite its doomed reputation.

Beside Spock, McCoy was complaining. "I'm a doctor not a Kung fu expert! How do they expect me to do this?"

"We are not being instructed in Kung Fu," Spock reminded him.

"It's all the same to me. I'm just glad that Jim and Gary aren't here; they'd love the opportunity to show off."

"I was unaware that they were proficient in self defense methods."

McCoy was beginning to look really exasperated. "Spock, _everyone_ knows that they are. Don't tell me that you haven't heard of the fights they've been in." Spock opened his mouth to do just that but McCoy beat him to it. "Finnegan?" He prompted. "They used to fight him before they came here?" Spock's expression remained blank. "You need to get out more."

"I have only been on Earth for approximately two days. It is logical to assume that I have not heard of these 'fights'."

"Oh… right. Well, Jim and Gary had a… reputation in their neighbourhoods."

"I have never understood the purpose of combat."

"Then you're in the wrong business, cadet," a professor smirked as he walked past and let everybody into the gym.

"They used to stand up to the local thugs," McCoy continued. "They've already thrashed Finnegan, who's a real-"

"No talking!" The professor snapped. He closed the door behind them. "I want you all to line up in single file."

Everyone rushed to obey. When the line was complete, the instructor moved to stand in front of them, his hands behind his back. "My name is professor Richards, but you will call me 'sir'." He paused for emphasis, an expectant look on his face.

Cottoning on, the cadets shouted back at him in unison, "Yes sir!"

He nodded approvingly. "Well, you motley lot are faster than my last class." He began pacing up and down. "I'm going to whip you cadets into shape and I expect my instructions to be followed at all times. Any slight mistake could result in injury to either you or your sparring partner. Obviously, I want to avoid that. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir!"

Some idiot's going to get injured anyway," McCoy muttered under his breath.

Richards pounced on him immediately. "I said no talking, cadet. What's your name?"

"Leonard McCoy, sir."

"You're going to demonstrate what happens when people disobey me cadet. Congratulations. Now drop and give me twenty."

Grumbling and with every eye upon him, McCoy was forced to get onto his hands and knees, and then start doing press-ups.

Richards pressed a foot into the small of his back, halting his progress. "Do them properly."

Glaring, McCoy obliged and was forced to begin again every time he did not do a perfect press-up. Eventually, after doing much more than the allocated twenty, he was allowed back to his feet.

"Well cadet McCoy, you better hope that your self defense is better than your press-ups. Everybody find a sparring partner; male cadets are not to fight female cadets." There was a flurry of movement as everyone got into pairs.

Richards examined Spock. "Cadet, come forward please." Spock stepped out of the line. "This Cadet here-"

"Spock," he supplied.

"I didn't need your _name_ cadet, just your attention. As I was saying, cadet _Spock_ will help me demonstrate a throw." He paused to eye Spock sarcastically. "Is that alright with you, cadet?"

"I have no opinion of it, sir."

"Good. Now, pay attention," he commanded the group at large.

He instructed Spock to his position, and then threw him. Spock landed lightly on his back and immediately regained his footing.

The instructor looked slightly surprised. "Where did you learn to do that, cadet?"

"All people like him do," Thompson butted in.

"I wasn't asking you cadet."

"Thompson."

Richards blinked. "What?"

"My name is Thompson, sir."

"Alright then, _Thompson._ Did you hear what I said about not talking unless talked to?"

"Yes sir."

"Then why did you deliberately disobey me?"

Thompson shrugged. "You asked a question and _he_ was too slow to answer it."

"I see…" Richards tone was ominous. "In the future, keep comments like that to yourself. Twenty press-ups." Thompson didn't move. "Don't you understand?"

"No sir."

"Twenty press-ups," Richards repeated, speaking slowly and pointing at the floor. "_**Now**__."_

_"_Why, sir?" Thompson actually looked genuinely confused. "I only answered your question."

"Yes cadet, you answered it- with bigotry towards Vulcans. Behaviour like that is unacceptable, and if you continue to disobey me then you'll be out of this Academy so fast that you won't know what hit you. Now _move!_"

Thompson reluctantly dropped to the floor and Richards watched grimly as the cadet completed his punishment. The instructor looked around the room. "Now, in your pairs, try out the throw that we just demonstrated." He waited until everyone had started before turning to Spock. "Cadet, are you trained in the arts?"

"Vulcan children are required to learn some form of defense."

"Are you considering security?"

"No sir."

Richards looked taken aback by this. "No? What are you training for?"

"A career in science."

"Well for a scientist you really know what you're doing." He looked past Spock. "Cadet McCoy, why are you standing around?"

"Spock's my sparring partner."

"Good luck…" Richards muttered under his breath disdainfully to McCoy as he walked past.

McCoy scowled. "I knew it would be like High School."

"High School?"

The doctor groaned. "Remember what I told you about dodge ball?"

"Affirmative."

"Damn," McCoy swore. "For a second I thought you'd forgotten."

"I have an eidetic memory."

"I half thought you might." McCoy stepped into position warily. "Ok, let's get this over with."

Spock threw McCoy instantly, who landed with a heavy thump on his back, eyes open wide. "Damn that hurt…"

Spock helped him back up carefully. "Perhaps we should reverse roles."

"Alright by me…" McCoy muttered, rubbing his back.

McCoy attempted to throw Spock and succeeded, but suddenly found himself tumbling after him. The feet of Richards loomed ominously in front of them.

"The key to success, cadet, is to _let go_ of your opponent's clothing." He smirked. "Try again."

McCoy attempted to throw again but lost his footing and almost tripped over a stray shoe lace. "Damn it…"

"Cadet, why are you wearing shoes?"

"It's a gym, and these are trainers," McCoy growled in annoyance. "I thought the connection was obvious."

"You're the only one who seemed to think so," he gestured at the other cadets, who padded around barefoot in order to have a better grip on the mats lying dotted around the floor. "Take them off and do ten laps of the room for being unobservant."

"That's ridiculous!" McCoy exploded.

"Unfortunately for you, I'm the professor in this room. Get moving."

"Aye sir," McCoy muttered, abandoning his shoes and beginning the long jog around the room, swearing under his breath.

Thompson laughed at McCoy, and tried to trip the doctor up as he ran past.

"Cadet Thompson, since you seem to find it so amusing, you can join him," Richards barked.

Thompson growled majestically and began running, punching a punch bag along the way. "Two more laps Thompson," Richards drawled lazily.

"What?"

"Are you disputing my orders?"

"I… no sir."

"Good, keep running. Right, everyone line up again except you two."

He began the demonstration on how to break free of an opponent's grasp but broke off a minute later to glare at Thompson who had rejoined the group. "Finished?"

"Yes sir."

"Then why is cadet McCoy still running when he has fewer laps than you?"

Thompson shrugged. "I run faster."

"Four more laps for skiving off punishment added on to your original total."

Thompson scowled menacingly and began running again while McCoy came to stand by Spock.

"Finished?"

"Yes sir," McCoy answered breathlessly.

"How many laps did you run?"

"Ten, sir."

"Good. It seems you learn faster than Thompson over there." He went back to his demonstration as if there had been no interruptions.

A few moments later McCoy was struggling to break free of Spock's grasp. He simply could not move. Richards came past on his routine rounds of the room, rolled his eyes at the doctor and moved one.

"Spock," McCoy gasped, "can we swap?"

"Of course, although you did not succeed in freeing yourself."

"I didn't have a chance," McCoy snorted. "It was like being stuck on fly paper."

"Indeed?" Spock asked, allowing himself to be captured. "You have had such an experience?"

"Until now, no. Ok, I think I'm ready… do your worst."

Spock broke free easily. "Would you like another attempt?"

"No. One public humiliation a day is enough for me."


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's note:** Flashbacks are in italics to avoid confusion with the present day._

_The piece is gone, left the puzzle undone  
That's the way it is_

The first few weeks at the Academy passed uneventfully for most, but was mainly saturated with essays to complete for their demanding professors. The time flew so that many cadets were surprised to suddenly find themselves nearing the end of the year and the Christmas holidays.

Thompson had continued to torment him in any way that he could, and his gang of friends seemed determined to help him in his quest to make Spock's life as miserable as possible. He had been forced to continued sharing quarters with him, despite all protests.

No-one, with the exception of the very few, seemed to care about what was going on between the two of them. He had been left to live his life at the Academy in misery, enduring their taunts with the knowledge that he could not fight back. If he did, he would be expelled for 'disorderly conduct', even if it was in self defense. Yet those who attacked him would never be punished.

One example of this was when he had been taking one of his very first walks around the grounds, in the vain hope that he could find peace away from so many people.

_Deep in thought, Spock walked slowly around the pond, which was thankfully out of sight of the main building. Here, he could forget that he was in the middle of a sprawling city if he turned a deaf ear to the distant rumblings of traffic. Here, he had the illusion of being alone in the countryside. There were no prying eyes here, and the birds that flew past were unable to taunt him. _

_A small duck swam through perfectly leveled water, creating small ripples that gradually smoothed by the time they reached the water bank. It looked up at him and quacked curiously, tilting its head to the side. _

_In front of him sat a frog on a leaf, and Spock watched in fascination as its long agile tongue flickered out and captured a hapless fly. The prey was dragged through the air and swallowed by the green predator in the space of a few seconds. Of course, he knew all about Earth pond life, but he had never before seen it in action. It was different to the small predators on Vulcan. It was alien. _

_A shadow cut across his musings and he span around to find himself face to face with Thompson and several other cadets. "Having fun?" Thompson sneered. "Were you thinking about drinking the blood of the frog?"_

_"I was merely observing it."_

_"Whatever," Thompson dismissed, coming a step closer. "I was wondering if you could… loan… me some money."_

_A suspicious eyebrow rose. "For what purpose?"_

_"None of your business."_

_"Then I regret that I cannot help you," he moved to walk away but his path was blocked. _

_"I think you'll reconsider."_

_"I do not believe so."_

_Thompson came closer menacingly, but Spock did not allow himself to show any reaction whatsoever. "What makes you think you have any choice?"_

_The others began to close in on him then, and Spock realized too late that this was an attack. He crouched slightly and bent his knees, ready to defend himself at the first sign of trouble. _

_Thompson laughed at him. "You think you can fight us off?"_

_Everyone moved in on him and one of them tried to grab his arm. He struck out, catching the cadet on the chin. The cadet stumbled back and narrowly avoided tripping over a bench. After that, a fully fledged fight ensued, but there were too many of them for even Spock to deal with. _

_He tried to nerve pinch one but was punched in the stomach by another. He tried to duck one blow but instead fell victim to another. After both sides had gathered a wide collection of bruises, he found himself firmly held in place. He could not move a muscle. _

_Thompson took Spock's money from his pocket. About twenty credits' worth. "Thank you," he walked off laughing. _

_Before following Thompson, the others threw him into the pond. He had tried reporting the theft, but it was his word against theirs. Eventually, he ended up cleaning out the pond as a punishment for attacking his own attackers, although it had been in self defense. _

At times, he would consider giving in and leaving the Academy, but he would then gaze at the night sky and be reassured very slightly. Kirk, McCoy and Thela also helped him when they could, but for the most part he would not let them, knowing that they too would fall victim to Thompson. Grudgingly they had listened to him and refrained from openly speaking against Thompson, but he could see that their patiences were wearing thin.

Their last cultural class before Christmas was the final straw.

Each cadet was required to take cultural studies despite the profession that they were working towards, as Star Fleet recognized that understanding each other brought a better working environment. In theory, at least. In practice, this was not always the case.

Some cadets often had difficulties with alien traditions, especially if it directly contradicted their own beliefs. Occasionally, a lecture could start what the professors euphemistically called a 'debate', which sometimes lasted for well over a week.

It was therefore with a great sense of trepidation that Spock took his place at the back of the hall and waited for the lecture to begin. He had discovered that occupying his usual seat near the front was not one of the best ideas, as people behind him would discreetly through things at him when the professor was not looking. Sitting at the back was the only way to avoid 'Thompson and his cronies', as McCoy had dubbed them.

Kirk, the only person who shared this class with him out of their small friendship group, sidled into the seat next to him and grinned a greeting. Due to the sheer size of their year group, the class occurred twice a week, with one half of the year attending the first, and the other half going to the second. They were the first group, while McCoy, Thela and Gary were the second.

Professor H Madden strode in and opened his notes on the table in front of him. He surveyed the room and nodded to himself in satisfaction. "Glad to see that everyone's here. I promised you a special lesson this week, is that right?"

"Yes sir," a few people chorused.

This was one reason why Madden was so popular this week; he was the only teacher who got easy going towards the end of term. Generally, he was a strict professional, and knew that a lack of discipline could not be tolerated. His hidden temper had become something of a legend in the past few months.

Madden nodded at the cadets who had spoken. "If I remember correctly, you have not yet been taught on Kesarahns. You've only been told that they're a fairly recent edition to the Federation of Planets. I thought that I'd teach you a bit more today."

"Sir," piped up a cadet at the front. "Will this be in the exams after Christmas?"

Madden shook his head. "No. We know very little of them so far, so we can't test you on them."

`He held up a remote control and pointed it at a device in the ceiling. An image was instantly projected onto the wall behind him.

"For those of you who do not already know, this is the Kesarahn home planet, which is situated at the very edge of explored space. As you can see from this satellite image, the planet is diverse both in culture and environment, with landscapes ranging from desert to rain forest. Pyramids are found in the deserts, built long ago by the natives."

"How old are they?" A dark skinned cadet Spock recognized as Uhura asked.

"No one is certain, not even the Kesarahns have a specific date." The image on the screen changed to show the vast blue oceans. "The natives that live by the seas have webbed limbs in order to help them remain in the water and hunt fish, and have the ability to hold their breaths for extensive periods of time. Usually the minimum time spent underwater is twenty minutes."

A few of the human cadets whistled in amazement. He flicked a button and the valley that Spock had once explored came on the screen. "The planet's main city is located in the valley, where markets are commonplace. Unlike the sea-dwellers, they do not have webbed feet or powerful lungs. They appear human to people visiting the planet."

The image changed to the mountainous area that Amanda had wanted to visit, but had never had the chance. "The mountains have not yet been climbed by any outsider, but the mountain dwellers are experienced and adapted to living in such a harsh climate. Rumour has it that they have light fur all over their bodies."

"Like a yeti," someone snickered.

Madden eyed the culprit coldly. "If you can't keep your opinions to yourself, you can leave the room."

Silence met his words, only to be broken by another cadet. "There are only rumours of them?"

Madden nodded. "Naturally they do not leave the mountains, and only a few have actually seen them. Nevertheless we know that they live there; there is evidence of that. We can only assume what they actually look like from various eyewitness accounts."

The landscape morphed into the caves that Spock had hoped never to see again. His heart lurched as he saw the place his mother had died. "These are the caves where the cave-dwellers remain. They have almost translucently pale skin and only venture out at night. However, there have been sightings of them during the day, but only near the shelter of the caves."

"Vampires," Thompson spat vehemently.

"As a matter of fact, they _do_ consume blood, but only animal kind made by a reform centuries ago."

"Do any of them drink the blood of people?" Someone asked, fear evident in their voice.

Madden looked suddenly unsure of what to say, and his eyes quickly darted to Spock. "I think that some do, yes, but they are kept behind bars to prevent attacks."

"But attacks happen," Thompson pointed out hatefully. "There was a scandal when the wife of the Vulcan Ambassador was murdered by an out of control vampire."

"Cave-dweller," Madden corrected, glancing at Spock nervously. "Yes, you're right, but the case was hushed up by the Ambassador himself. Only the Vulcans seem to know what happened, and they aren't telling anybody."

"Why not?" Thompson demanded.

Madden eyed him in something akin to exasperation. "The Ambassador didn't want the hastle of a mass investigation or press attention."

"So he doesn't care who did it? He doesn't even want to find out?"

"Maybe he _knows_ who did," one of Thompson's friends sneered. "It's a conspiracy."

"Cadet, it is not a conspiracy."

"Of course it is," the friend continued. "He might even have killed his own wife and made it look like a vampire attack."

"Is that your _professional_ opinion cadet?" Madden asked scathingly.

"All I'm saying is that anything is possible."

"It was a vampire attack." Another cadet echoed.

"Cave-dweller," Madden repeated in annoyance. No one listened to him.

"I don't think vampires should be allowed in Star Fleet," Thompson hissed.

"Cadet, they pose no danger to anybody."

"Except the Ambassador's wife," Thompson reminded him.

"There have been no further attacks." It was obvious now that Madden was getting frustrated.

"There probably will be. They're scum."

"Cadet Thompson, I will not allow bigotry in this class room."

Thompson stood up and looked around himself. "Am I the only one who sees them for what they really are? Don't any of you care?" He glared at Spock. "Leeches like him are dirt."

Kirk immediately stood up to defend is friend. "Spock's a Vulcan."

Thompson laughed. "You still believe that do you? What I did to him wasn't obvious enough?" He looked around the room. "You all think I was spreading rumours, don't you? Ask professor Madden, or anyone else on the complex; they'll tell you the truth."

"Cadet, I will have to ask you…" Madden began furiously, but he never had a chance to finish his sentence.

"You're not going to tell them, are you?" Thompson asked. Madden's silence was damning. Thompson turned back around to face Kirk once more. "Hasn't that slimy Andorian friend of yours told you yet?"

Kirk's hands balled into fists and his face reddened. Madden spoke before Kirk did. "Cadet; out. Now," he barked, holding open the door.

Thompson eyed the room disdainfully once more and then stormed out.

Madden slammed it after him and proceeded to write up a note that would put Thompson on report. Immediately, the lecture hall filled with nervous chatter.

"Kirk eyed him as he sat back down." Spock?" His eyes sought denial, but met only confirmation. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Thompson had already announced it."

"Everyone knew that he hated you, we just thought it was a rumour." He peered closer. "You look Vulcan, maybe a bit paler than most, but still Vulcan."

Spock sighed slightly. "You did not notice my teeth?"

"Teeth?" Kirk asked in bemusement. "No; you don't exactly smile enough to show off your teeth you know." There was a moment of dawning comprehension. "Vampire teeth?"

Spock winced inwardly at the haunting memories that this statement brought back. "Crude, but essentially correct."

"And here I was thinking that those cubes were some sort of fruit," Kirk joked, but Spock noticed that there was a slight wariness in his eyes that had not existed previously.

Madden called the group back into order and resumed his lecture, but Spock could still see the occasional head turn to stare at him anxiously. When the lecture was finally over, the cadets spilled out of the room nervously, but Madden motioned for Spock to remain behind.

He waited until the last cadet had left before speaking. "I've put Thompson on report for his behavior. I'm sorry; if I'd known this would happen I would never have told them about Kesarah."

"There is no need to apologise, sir."

"Do you still share quarters with cadet Thompson?"

"Yes," was all Spock could say in reply.

Madden winced sympathetically. "I'll do my best to change that for you."

Spock inclined his head in thanks, the gesture hiding his surprise that the professor was willing to help him. "I appreciate the offer."

Madden grinned solemnly. "Then you're welcome. Have a nice Christmas."

Dismissed, Spock nodded once again and left the professor alone in his room with the paperwork. He searched the corridor, half expecting to see Kirk waiting for him as he had done in the past, but no one was there. Half of him was not surprised.

After the revelation minutes earlier, the real surprise would be if anyone treated him the same way ever again. He made his way back to his quarters, inwardly relieved that this was Friday night and that he did not have to deal with the company of Thompson. He would be outside in the grounds with his friends or in the city somewhere. If he was honest with himself, he did not care what his roommate did so long as he was away from him.

He dumped his books and notes on the desk and sat in the chair. He tried to concentrate on his work, but found that he could not, so haunted he was by the multitude of repulsed faces that he had passed in the corridors. News definitely travelled quickly.

Rumours had of course been spread of his true nature, but they had stemmed solely from Thompson, who did not exactly have vast amounts of credibility. They had not been believed, but now Thompson had finally managed to reveal the truth.

The whole situation reminded him to a certain extent of his childhood on Vulcan before the transformation. He had received the same disdainful stares because of being a 'half breed'; neither human nor Vulcan. He had been hated for it, loathed for it, and taunted for it.

When he was really young and the Vulcan children had not yet learned full emotional discipline, he had been beaten for it. They had accused him of being a human masquerading as a Vulcan. His fellow Vulcans had done anything and everything that they could to get an emotional rise out of him, and the Vulcan scholars had allowed it. Some had even joined in. They had insulted him, his father, the planet Earth, but he had never responded.

Until the day that they had insulted his mother.

He had thrown himself at the child then, all emotional control shattered. They had both crashed into a learning hollow in the ground, where Spock had pummeled the Vulcan boy until he had been forcibly pulled away by the Vulcan scholars. He had broken the boy's nose, and the thought had been relished since.

Unfortunately it had only served to reinforce the belief that he was a human in Vulcan form.

Today, he thought with no small measure of irony, he was being accused of being a Vampire in Vulcan form. The human aspect had been forgotten or cast aside for the even more scornful alternative, it seemed. Of course, no one knew of his true background, not even those closest to him.

He simply could not bring himself to speak of his past. All they had known was that he was a Vulcan cadet who was rumoured to be a Kesarahn cave-dweller. He had never spoken of his heritage to anybody.

Now though, they thought that he was a Kesarahn who had deceived them into thinking that he was a Vulcan. Perhaps none of his fellow cadets understood the process of transformation. Those attacks were still pretty much hushed up, and close relatives were either too traumatized or too ashamed to tell anybody. The attacks resulting in death were the only ones that were made public. His mother's was a painful example.

Perhaps Kirk had thought that he could be attacked, and so had left quietly while Spock was talking with professor Madden. Maybe McCoy would be the same, given his evident distaste of the blood jelly that had been mentioned when they first met each other. Thela might remain, as she had done from the beginning, but surely even she would not want to be seen with him now. He had been exposed, and it might become dangerous to be associated with him in any way.

It that was the case, he was well and truly alone.

Dull thuds to his left interrupted his musings, and he realized that his window was being egged. Sighing, he looked through the remaining clean windows, if only to see who was leading the attack.

Something large hurtled through the air, and Spock ducked just in time to avoid being hit on the head by the rock that came crashing through the window. Glass showered around him like confetti and landed glistening in his hair. Gingerly, he shook his head, sending the shards shattering to the floor.

Through the smashed window he could hear insults being thrown at him before the culprits ran off laughing. Evidently, this would be much more violent than his childhood experiences on Vulcan.

In the sudden quiet that followed, someone knocked at the door but he ignored it, concentrating instead upon the mess around him. The knock became more insistent, but he did not hear. He was too busy staring at the anonymous death threat that had been tied to the rock.

The door slid open and Thela marched in. "Why aren't you answering the door?" She took in the scene around them. "What happened?"

"A rock was thrown at the window."

"A rock? What's going on?"

"You have not been informed?" he asked with some surprise.

Thela shook her head. "I tried asking Jim, but he didn't tell me anything. That's why I'm here."

"The 'rumour' that I am a cave-dweller has just been confirmed," he said emotionlessly. "I have officially been declared a 'vampire' by Thompson."

Thela cursed in Andorian. "I knew this would happen eventually, but I didn't think that the reaction would be this bad." She eyed the note warily. "Is that a threat?"

Wordlessly, Spock handed it over to her and watched as she read each line slowly, her eyes becoming more shocked and worried at the hate filled words. Finally, she flung the letter away from her, her antennae quivering in disgust.

"Spock, you have to tell somebody!"

"That will not improve the situation."

She threw up her hands in frustration and stared imploringly at the ceiling for a few seconds before replying. "Spock, you just received a death threat! I don't know how you can think the situation will not get worse!"

"It may be an idle threat."

She looked exasperated. "If you won't tell anybody, I will."

"Thela, that would be extremely unwise."

"Why? Because it will help you? Spock, do you _enjoy_ being tormented by these maniacs?"

"Negative."

"Then let me _tell_ somebody! At the very least Jim or Leonard should know!" She saw the look in his eyes and came close to stamping her feet in frustration. "Whatever you might think, they haven't abandoned you." He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Deep down you know they haven't. They're your friends, Spock!" He did not answer her. "You can be so stubborn!"

"I am not being stubborn," he protested.

"You're not being logical either. How do you expect this to clear up if you bury your head in the sand?"

"The situation will remain the same, and I hardly see how burying my head in sand is relevant."

She sighed. "You don't know that for sure."

"It is a logical assumption when past events are considered."

"Clearly the phrase 'never give up' means nothing to you, but it means something to me," she began to walk out the door.

"Thela," she turned around at the sound of his voice. "I will not allow you to interfere."

"You won't allow me?" She asked coldly. "Are you worried that they'll start on me too? Spock, believe it or not, I can defend myself."

"I do not wish you to get involved."

"Good for you. I'll leave you alone then if you have everything so under control. Have a great Christmas Spock."

Before he could call her back, she was gone. The only positive thing he could think of was that she would keep her word and not get into danger by trying to help him.

The egging of his windows began as soon as she was out of sight. Perhaps it was a bad omen.


	6. Chapter 6

_You are beautiful no matter what they say  
Words can't bring you down_

Sitting cross legged on his bed, Spock rested his hands on his knees and closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing and lowered himself through the different stages of meditation. Through the slightly open window he could hear the breeze and feel the soft caress of the wind as it drifted across his cheek. Instead of distracting him, it helped him feel calm.

Finally achieving the last stage of the meditation process, he allowed soothing logic to wash over him.

The door buzzer sounded. No one ever buzzed his door; perhaps it was another 'prank' being played by Thompson.

He closed his eyes once more and struggled to lower himself back into the appropriate trance. The buzzer sounded again, more insistently this time.

"Spock?" A wary voice called through the door once the noise of the buzzer stopped. "It's me, Jim. I know you're in there."

Resigning himself to having to explain why he kept his heritage a secret, he opened the door and allowed Jim to come in. People walking past muttered to each other under their breaths and made vulgar comments about Spock's heritage.

"Jim, I… apologise for not informing you of my heritage sooner, it was…"

Kirk waved a hand and talked over his apology. "No Spock, Thompson was right."

Cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach and grabbed hold of his internal organs like an icy hand. He was right; he would no longer be accepted. "You agree with him?"

Kirk nodded. "Yes, he was right; I should have realized sooner. All the signs were there; the paler than normal skin, the reluctance to talk of your home planet," he chuckled humourlessly. "The cubes." He ran his hand through his hair. "Spock, what I wanted to say was…"

Spock couldn't bear to hear it, even if it meant interrupting his friend's explanation. "I understand."

Kirk looked momentarily taken aback. "You… understand what?"

"If you feel it is too dangerous to be in my company any longer."

Kirk simply stood there blinking and then moved to sit down on Thompson's bed. "No…" he rubbed his face tiredly. "No Spock. That's not what I was going to say."

"Then..." Spock asked with hesitant confusion. "What were you intending to say?"

"I wanted you to know that I'm still your friend; I know how it must have looked when I left you there after class earlier." He paused to think of his next words, and Spock patiently waited for him to continue. "I'm sorry Spock, I was just shocked. I needed time to think about… everything."

For a while he stared at the floor and then looked up at Spock with a watery smile. "Do you forgive me for making you think I'd abandoned you?"

Spock blinked, surprised that this human could read him so easily. "Jim, you have no reason to apologise. It was I who was untruthful. I did nothing to correct your belief that I was a Vulcan."

"I understand why you did it though. Spock you have to believe me on this; I don't hold it against you, I don't care that you're not Vulcan. You're my friend."

All he could do was bow his head, unable to meet the intensity of Kirk's gaze. "I believe you… Jim."

He heard a sigh of relief and risked looking back up, surprised to see that the cadet was smiling. "Good, because I have something to ask you. Do you want to stay with me, Bones and Thela for the Christmas break?"

After everything that had happened to him in his life, Spock had hardly ever been speechless. Now, he was speechless. "I…"

Kirk grinned. "Is that a 'yes'?" he asked hopefully.

"I… believe so… where would we be staying?"

"A relative of mine has a huge house, and he invited me to stay along with any friends I wanted. You don't have any other plans do you?"

Spock thought of the mostly empty home on Vulcan, to which he was no longer welcome. His father had refused to let him return home during the holidays, and the gulf between them was still stretched wide with no hints of reconciliation. In fact, he had been planning to spend his time here, at the Academy.

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "I have no other arrangements."

Kirk clapped his hands together. "Then it's settled!" He got up and moved to go out the door but turned back at the last minute. "By the way, you'll have to get your stuff together very fast; the shuttle leaves in two hours."

"Two hours? Jim, you have not given me much time."

Kirk shrugged. "The rest of us only found out we could stay there yesterday; my relative likes leaving things a bit on the late side… maybe that's where I get it from… anyway, what with all the commotion, this is the first real chance I've had to tell you about it."

"I am most grateful for the offer."

Kirk's Cheshire grin widened. "I knew you would be. Now get packing, you don't want to have your reputation of punctuality ruined by missing the shuttle, do you?"

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Relaxed despite being heavily swamped by their travel bags, the cadets crowded around a large metal gate which led to a majestically large garden, which had a long road running through it and up to the grand house itself.

"Bloody hell Jim! What is your uncle, a millionaire?"

Kirk blushed sheepishly. "Something like that Bones."

McCoy whistled appreciatively as the gates swung open from them. "I could really get used to this."

"I know, I know," Kirk chuckled, waving at a security camera. "There are cameras everywhere; fame really wears you down you know."

Everyone rolled their eyes at Kirk's latest (and worst) joke, except Spock of course, who had instead adopted a look of long suffering acceptance.

Mighty looking birds strutted over to the group and began gazing speculatively at Thela, who looked surprised. "Are those… _peacocks_?"

"Yup," Kirk announced triumphantly.

"I thought they were extinct," McCoy murmured, reaching out to touch one in awe.

"In that case doctor, you have been grossly misinformed," Spock said dryly, "since the 'extinct' peacocks are currently standing before us."

"They came close to extinction I think," Kirk conceded, watching as his friend drew closer to a bird that was rapidly becoming grumpy looking. "Careful Bones; that one looks as though you're ruffling its feathers."

"Very funny, Jim. You and your corny jokes…" McCoy's complaint broke off mid sentence as the bird snapped aggressively at him. The doctor jumped back, swearing in alarm.

"He told you to be careful, Len," Thela giggled.

McCoy glared at her and seemed about to make a scathing retort, but was quickly distracted by a sharp beak pecking him on the arm. "OW!! Jim, this bird is crazy!!"

Kirk could not answer, so hard was he laughing at the sight of a game of cat and mouse going on between McCoy and the peacock. Thela, though giggling uncontrollably, was at least coming to the hapless doctor's aid and trying to shoo the bird away, but with no result. Spock was probably the one most able to help, but he appeared content to stand back and watch the entire proceedings with eyebrows raised.

"Thanks for your help!" McCoy hissed at Kirk and Spock, even as he leapt into the air to avoid another peck.

"No problem," Kirk snickered.

"Spock," McCoy cried in desperation. "You're the logical one; how do I get it to stop attacking me?"

"I regret that I am inexperienced with the behavior of Terran peacocks, doctor. It is something that was regretfully omitted from my curriculum throughout my school career."

"Ouch!! Damn it!" McCoy rubbed his sore arm and began wisely backing further away from the bird, who had now gained the help of the rest of the group. "Well you two are about as much help as a trap door on a canoe!" He shouted angrily.

"Len, I think you should run," Thela suggested seriously.

Eyeing the door to the house with a look on his face closely resembling calculation, McCoy appeared to be working out whether or not he could escape indoors before being completely defeated by the angry feathered group. Eyes darting back and foreword, he decided that Thela's advice was sound, and abandoning his bags, he made a mad dash for the door.

"Run Bones!" Kirk encouraged through gasping gulps of air as he struggled to remain upright through his laughter.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" McCoy bellowed over his shoulder as he zig zagged in a futile attempt to confuse the birds. A few meters away from the door, he tripped over and skidded to a halt. The peacocks began pecking at him in earnest. "Stop it, damn it!! I'm warning you!!"

Mercifully the door to the mansion opened at that moment, and a man dressed in a suit chased the birds away with what looked like experience. Grinning, he bent down and helped McCoy to his feet, who was brushing off his clothes and swearing passionately.

Smiling warmly, Kirk led Spock and Thela to the man, Spock carrying McCoy's bags as well as his own. "Uncle Blake!"

"Jim! Long time no see!"

Kirk awkwardly attempted an introduction. "Uncle, this is Leonard McCoy, Thela and Spock." He then gestured at his Uncle. "This is Blake Le Sauvage."

Blake grinned at them from ear to ear. "Pleased to see you all. I notice you've met my peacocks."


	7. Chapter 7

_You are beautiful in every single way  
Yes, words can't bring you down  
Don't you bring me down today_

"It's along here somewhere," Kirk insisted.

"And you criticize _me_ for getting lost," McCoy snorted.

The four cadets walked along a bustling street, searching for a bar that Kirk had apparently known since his youth, where his step father had sometimes taken him. On a street full of clothes shops, it was the only place available to eat their lunch, and as such should not have been so difficult to find. Nevertheless, at that moment in time, it could not be seen at all.

"What's it called?" Thela asked for the thirteenth time.

"The Drunken Duck."

Also for the thirteenth time that day, Spock's eyebrow levitated towards his hair line and he contemplated the imagination of whoever had christened the bar 'the Drunken Duck'.

"Is that it?" McCoy asked, his finger pointing in the direction of a rundown building not far away.

Kirk squinted through the throng of people. "Yes. Wow, it looks a lot worse than it used to…"

"Are we going in?" Thela asked nervously.

Kirk gave a 'devil may care' shrug. "Why not?"

Grouped together, they apprehensively opened the bar door and walked through.

Immediately, they were greeted by a bustling noise, which was closely accompanied by the smell of stale drink. The room was dank and dark; the corners fading into complete blackness where those wishing for solitude sat. There was an ominous cough from the dark corner nearest to them, followed by a billowing of intoxicating smoke.

"Jim, you mean to tell me you came here as a child?" McCoy asked incredulously.

Kirk nodded, grinning. "The old place hasn't changed much. Even Bartender Jack is still here."

"Well now isn't that fantastic?" McCoy drawled sarcastically.

Kirk slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Oh lighten up Bones."

"I agree with the Doctor," Spock said. "This establishment appears unsafe."

"Relax guys! You're with me; you'll be fine." Before anyone could object, Kirk steered them towards the bar. "Right, what do you all want?"

Everyone rattled off the names of their drinks, but Spock found himself at a loss for words. What could he say? His friends might know that he was a cave-dweller, but he didn't think that the people in this pub would accept him here. He could hardly order a Kesarahn drink, especially while he still partially resembled a Vulcan.

Kirk seemed to notice his predicament and leaned closer slightly to whisper in his ear. "It's alright Spock; just pretend you're our designated driver for the night."

"We do not possess our own transport."

"They don't know that though."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I am not willing to mislead."

Kirk sighed in exasperation. "It's not misleading. All you have to do is sit there and not drink. It's either that or you try to force yourself to drink alcohol."

"My metabolism would be unable to digest Terran alcohol. It would be the equivalent of poison."

"Then just go along with my plan. If anyone asks, _I'll_ lie for you, ok?"

Spock was not convinced, but had little option other than to agree with the fellow cadet. Still uneasy about the prospect of misdirection, he joined the others at the table.

McCoy took a swig of his drink and promptly spat it back into the cup. "They call this a Mint Julep?"

"Shh," Thela cautioned, waving her hands at the loud doctor. "Keep your voice down." Already, some people were eyeing McCoy scornfully.

"Hey!" Someone yelled. "If you can't hold your drink, why are you here?"

McCoy opened his mouth to yell back but Kirk placed a hand on his arm. "Bones, don't. I tried that once, and ended up in a fight."

"I hope you won," McCoy growled, watching as the man and his friends laughed raucously at the joke.

Kirk smirked. "Actually, I was beaten to a pulp."

"What the hell did you say to them?" McCoy asked.

"I uh… called him a 'cupcake'."

Thela, who had just begun to drink her Brandy, almost choked on the fiery liquid. Spock dutifully patted her on the back, mindful not to injure her with his superior strength. "Why?" She finally managed.

Kirk shrugged. "I was talking to this girl; he didn't like it- so I called him a cupcake."

"Was he the girl's partner?" Spock asked.

"To tell you the truth; I have no idea. I lost track of who was who after he punched me in the face."

McCoy looked past Kirk at the bulky cadet that they had been speaking of. "Looking at the muscle on that guy, Jim, I'd say you were either crazy to get in a fight with him, or very, _very_ drunk."

"I suspect the latter is the correct assumption, Doctor."

Kirk looked at Spock in mock indignation. "Hey!"

McCoy took another swig of his drink, grimacing once again. "Ugh, this is terrible."

Kirk nodded in agreement. "They're not exactly famous for their drinks."

"Then why did you bring us here?" McCoy asked.

Kirk shrugged. Thela took another long sip of her drink. "Mine's perfect."

Both human cadets stared at her in momentary astonishment. Spock lifted an eyebrow.

"What?" She asked innocently.

As the evening drew on, the cadets swallowed their fear of the drinks' flavor and there was soon a round of empty glasses perched on the table. Spock of course was the only one still sober. The Vulcan surveyed his companions in fascination as they laughed uncontrollably at a joke that he did not understand. Alcohol created fascinating results.

Without warning, the door crashed open, shedding light on the entire bar. Thela shrank back in her seat drunkenly. "My eyes! I'm melting!"

He surveyed her in confusion. "Melting?"

"Spock," McCoy slurred. "One o' these days we're gonna have to get you a phrase book. Don't you know what that means?"

"Doctor, if I knew the meaning of the statement I would not have repeated it."

Kirk laughed and thumped the table. "One nil to Spock."

"I fail to see the humour in my reply to the doctor's question." He grew even more confused when Kirk laughed harder.

"Hell Spock, you of all people should understand what 'melting' means!" McCoy slurred loudly. "Vampires melt in the sunlight…" he hinted.

Spock tensed and resisted the urge to look around as the room went silent. "Doctor, Kesarahns do not melt."

"Oh come on!" McCoy sputtered. "You've _never_ been in the sunlight and though 'hell I'm getting all runny around the edges'?"

Attempting to keep his voice neutral, Spock noticed the form of Thompson standing in the still open doorway. "I cannot say that I have, doctor."

McCoy looked surprised as he drained the last drop of his drink. "I'll have to study that anomamaly- anomalley- anomaloy…" apparently the Doctor was finding it difficult to pronounce 'anomaly' in his inebriated state, Spock noticed with some unexpected satisfaction.

An ominous shadow fell across the table. Fighting back a very human sense of dread, Spock turned around and stared right at Thompson.

"Hello, _roomie_." Thompson snarled.

At that moment, the room went silent. Spock had no chance to answer Thompson before he found two strong hands yanking him to his feet.

Kirk crashed to a standing position, coming perilously close to spilling his drink over himself in his drunken state. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Thompson snarled malevolently. He turned back to the cadet. "This is no place for you, leech."

Before Spock could reply, a blinding pain erupted in his jaw as a large fist connected with his bone. If he had been human, is jaw would have dislocated. Staggering backwards in shock, his knees buckled as they came into contact with a table, and he found himself sitting on it, alcohol surrounding him in puddles.

The occupants of the table screamed at him in rage in their native languages, and began tugging at him in an attempt to throw him across the room. Struggling against the two strengths that were pulling in opposite directions, he felt as though he were about to be ripped in two. They were much stronger than even Kesarahns.

A voice yelled incoherently and the sound of smashing glass could be heard. One of the grips slackened minutely and Spock turned to see McCoy standing behind one of his attackers with a broken glass.

Shuffling footsteps drew his attention back to Thompson, who landed a solid punch in his gut. Unable to bend over due to the hands gripping him upright, he gasped reflexively. Thompson drew back his arm for another strike, but Spock placed all of his weight onto the arms grasping him and, lifting himself off the table, landed a powerful kick on the man's chest. He was rewarded by the sight of Thompson falling back into a throng of spectators.

Over the din of the fight Spock heard the doctor cry out in pain, and turned his head just in time to see the human collapsing to the floor, clutching his jaw. His right arm was suddenly released as the burly alien who had previously been holding him moved in for the kill.

Tugging at his left arm, he found himself unable to move and prevent the alien from closing in on McCoy. He heard another roar of rage and Kirk staggered onto the scene, smashing a chair over the alien's back. The alien wavered but did not fall.

Kirk fearlessly engaged the alien in combat, with McCoy chipping in. The crowd beyond jeered at them, the barman cashing in bets on who would fall first.

The arms on his left suddenly jerked at him harder than before, pulling him off the table. Instinct made him roll just in time to avoid a large heavy boot that came crashing down on the space where his head had been.

Thompson took advantage of his position and kicked him in the gut, and then yanked him to his feet before he could even react to the blow.

He could dimly hear Thela screaming in the background, but all he saw was a blue blur as he was punched in the jaw once again. He fell to the hard, cold floor, out of shock rather than pain, and looked up in time to see Thela launch herself at the bigoted cadet.

"Thela, stop!" His voice was drowned out by the cheering of the bloodthirsty crowd, and she did not hear as she proceeded to slap and kick the cadet before her with all of her strength.

Thompson snapped both of her hands into his and gazed at her with profound hatred. "Andorian…" he hissed. "You think you can defend that pitiless creature?" He asked, jerking his head to Spock, who was in the process of clambering to his feet.

Thela's reply was lost in the hubbub, but Thompson's lip curled in deep disgust. Forcefully, he pushed Thela away from him, spitting on her as she hit the ground.

In a rage, Spock threw himself at the man before him, barely able to control himself as his mouth opened and his pointed teeth were revealed. All logic dissolved, he thirsted for the blood of the man who had ruined the life of him and of his friends.

Terrified, Thompson drew back, yelling for the help of his companions. They came to his aid instantly.

Spock was unable to defend himself against such a large foe as he was mercilessly beaten to the ground. His head span dizzily and he found himself unable to see past the hateful faces that were glaring down upon him, each eye thirsting for a blood that only he could give.

He was saved by the door slamming open.

As if in a dream, Spock could only look on as the people who had been attacking him fell to the floor, gripped in a beam of energy that robbed them of their consciousnesses.

Relieved by the sound of phasers, he turned his head weakly to see the boots of policemen as they surrounded him protectively. The crowd booed in disappointment as they were herded out of the door.

Shaking from the beating that he had endured, Spock attempted to clamber to his feet, and was surprised to see a hand helping him. The middle aged policeman released him when he was sure that the young cadet could stand alone.

"What happened?" The police man in charge had a barking voice that cut through the air effortlessly.

The landlord stepped forward to answer the man's question, wringing his hands nervously. "That scum," he directed his comment to Spock, "started a fight."

"How did he start the fight?"

"He's a Kesarahn vampire," he spat.

"Now wait a minute…" Kirk growled, but the landlord raised his voice to talk over him.

"I heard your friend here," he glared at McCoy, "talking about it."

The man in charge wrote this down in his notebook, and then looked back up to the landlord. "So let me get this straight," he said tiredly, "this man started a fight because his friend announced he was a _vampire_?"

"Yes!" The landlord exclaimed, nodding his head emphatically.

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?" Thela questioned.

The police officer ignored her. "Sir, I will not ask you again; how _exactly _did this fight start?"

"I just told you! This man said his friend was a vampire, and he" he pointed to Thompson, "attacked him."

The policeman nodded. "So the Kesarahn did not actually start the fight." He checked Thompson's ID; each cadet was required to wear one when they were off campus in the event that there was an accident and the Academy needed to be contacted. "Cadet Thompson started it."

"No- that filthy Kesarahn did."

The police officer rolled his eyes. "Thompson threw the first punch, and in the eyes of the law that means he started it."

"If that scum had not been in here the fight wouldn't have happened. Look at my bar," he muttered miserably, gesturing at the ruined furniture and smashed glasses. "How am I supposed to pay for this?"

"It's not my job to tell you that, sir. You should have insurance." The landlord scowled in response to this. "For the rest of the night, this pub is to remain closed."

"But…"

"No arguments," the officer snapped. The landlord sullenly retreated behind his bar and began clearing up the mess.

"As for you," the officer said angrily, turning to Spock. "Get out of here. We don't want your kind starting any more fights around here. We've already had one tonight."

Obediently, Spock staggered out of the door, but once he was out of sight of the policemen he allowed himself to lean heavily against the wall, the arrival of the cold outside air causing his head to spin dizzyingly fast. Doctor McCoy suddenly appeared in front of him, the dried blood stemming from his nose making him appear war torn.

"Spock?" The Doctor was gripping his shoulders tightly, yet he could barely feel the hands as the world around him faded into darkness.

Through his pain and exhaustion, he was dimly aware of Kirk calling his uncle and asking sheepishly for a lift home.

The last conscious act that he was aware of was licking his lips, eyes riveted on the red blood on the face of the human before him.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He awoke to the warm surroundings of Blake le Sauvage's private home. The bed was luxurious under his bruised and battered body, and he allowed himself to remain within its silky warmth, unwilling to move.

"Morning Spock," McCoy chirped cheerfully, but with a hint of underlying worry in his voice. "Good to see you awake."

As full consciousness set in, Spock sat up quickly, steadying himself when he swayed slightly at his lack of balance and strength. "What happened?"

McCoy hurried over and immediately forced him to lie back down. "Take it easy, no one's going to hurt you."

"What happened?" He repeated.

"You got into a fight…" He peered at Spock in concern. "Don't you remember?"

Spock nodded. "However, I do not know how I arrived at this location."

"We flew you here in Blake's air car." He shook his head in annoyance. "The hospital couldn't treat you; they didn't know how."

"How…"

"I treated you," McCoy interrupted in answer to Spock's unfinished question. "Mind you, I had to guess a lot of it… I never knew that vampires could be injured." The last comment was murmured to himself, as though McCoy had not realized that he had spoken aloud.

"Doctor, please stop referring to me as a 'vampire'."

"Sorry. I guess it's a bad habit."

"Indeed." He replied dryly.

McCoy sat on a chair beside his bed and stared at him intently. "How do you feel?"

"Somewhat fatigued, but recovering."

McCoy nodded absently. "Good, you should be able to travel then. I'll go and tell Jim."

Spock quickly sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. The movement stopped the doctor, who came back and steadied him as he swayed once more.

Once he had regained control of himself, Spock gently pulled himself free of McCoy's grasp and stood up. "Where are we going?"

"Back to the Academy."

Spock frowned and moved to block McCoy's access to the door. "I do not understand."

"Spock, we're all going back to the Academy. You've been unconscious nearly three days."

"Nevertheless, four more days of the Christmas break remain. I do not understand the need to return so early. I was under the impression that humans prolong appointed rest periods as long as possible."

McCoy sighed. "We do, but there's no point staying here; Thompson's in the neighborhood. We're not going to let him ruin your break Spock, so we're going to the last place he'd ever want to go."

"Logical, however I fail to see the need for all of us leaving when it is only I that is unwelcome."

"You're our friend," McCoy said simply, as though that explained everything.

Spock immediately felt a foreign emotion swelling within his chest. Frowning slightly as he walked out the room, he was unable to decipher its meaning.


	8. Chapter 8

_No matter what we do,  
No matter what we do_

The morning of the first of the spring exams dawned with much panic as the cadets readied themselves for the paper on physics. Along the corridor outside the examination hall, cadets were frantically muttering equations to themselves and buried their noses in textbooks. A few seemed calm and completely ready for the trial ahead, and were look upon with much envy by those who were still frantically revising. Among those calm cadets was Thompson, who was coolly leaning back against the wall and talking in a loud, carrying voice. A few people nearby eyed him in annoyance.

Already this morning Thompson had bragged of how he knew that he would pass, as he had stolen a look at Spock's notes when he was not around. This came as no shock to Spock, who had privately expected as much, but Thela looked disgusted.

"Aren't you worried that he's using your hard work to win himself a place for next year?" Thela whispered urgently.

He raised an eyebrow. "What purpose would worry serve?"

She sighed in exasperation. "He hasn't done any work, but knowing your notes he'll come out at the top of the class."

"That is not possible."

"Why not?"

His eyes twinkled mischievously. "It is not in my nature to leave my work in places of easy access."

"Weren't you listening? He has it!"

He nodded. "However, I do not believe that he realizes what in fact he has been reading."

Thela's eyes narrowed in slight suspicion, the hint of enlightenment playing about her features as she smiled slightly. "What _was_ he reading?"

"My notes from Vulcan. It appears that I neglected to hide them."

"So he's been revising completely the wrong thing," Thela concluded. "How did you know that he looked at those notes, anyway?"

"I saw him. Unfortunately for him, he read the wrong information and did not realize his error."

Thela grinned as she looked over at the still relaxed Thompson. "I'd love to see his face when he finds out."

"Indeed. It would be interesting to note his reaction."

She stared at him. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were pulling a practical joke."

"Fortunately, you do 'know better', as you say."

"Mmm," she nodded, but suddenly looked anxious. "What are you going to do when he finds out? He'll be mad as hell, and knowing what happened at Christmas…"

He considered her for a moment. "I believe that the correct expression is 'play it by ear'. There is little alternative."

Thela nodded grimly. Since Christmas and the threat through the window, she had been making a point of reminding him how dangerous Thompson was, although Spock needed little reminding.

Despite her declaration that she would not help him, her anger with his decision had evaporated and they had remained friends. Of course, she had kept her promise and the knowledge of the threat remained between the two of them.

The same could not be said for the other cadets.

Everyone else had given him a wide berth wherever he went, and some made snide comments to him as he passed. A few remained unprejudiced; Kirk, McCoy, and Gary Mitchell included, but they were in the minority and soon became an additional target for Thompson and his gang. Most cadets eyed him in fear, so deeply ingrained was the legend of vampires and the danger that they could pose to any living creature.

Now, as he stood waiting to be let into the exam room, Thela was his only companion, and there was a large area of space around them. It was as if they had the plague. He had even noticed that most people stood side on to him, unwilling to look at him and yet too afraid of him to turn their backs.

He had continued to be threatened, and every time his window was broken, Thompson's laugh could be heard echoing around the grounds. Predictably, it was not Thompson who was punished for the continuously broken window, but Spock. Every time it was fixed it broke, and Spock was punished.

No one seemed to care that he was not to blame.

The behavior of the professors also became worse, once they realized that it was pointless to try to contain the truth of his heritage. They had found any excuse to blame him for things that went wrong when he was around; such as broken equipment or an unruly group. Madden was the only professor who had remained civil towards him, and treated him just as he would anyone else. Rumour had it that Madden was 'in league' with the 'vampires', and he was no longer respected by anybody that hated Spock or Kesarahns in general.

A petition had been sent to Star Fleet requesting that Kesarah be thrown out of the Federation, or at least have its members learn in segregated Academies. Star Fleet had stuck to its principal of infinite diversity and refused, which had sparked a violent wave of animosity towards Kesarahns within the Academy which had never quite died down. Most had given in to the violence and returned to their home world, while some had been forced away using threats to their families. Spock was the only one who remained.

Just days ago he had ventured into San Francisco city as he sometimes did when he needed to be completely alone, but had run into a small group of cadets whom he had never spoken to before. They had charged against him without provocation, and he had spent the next few hours trying to avoid a repeat of the incident at Christmas, and get back to the Academy safely.

As he had reached the Academy gates, he had come face to face with two of the pursuing cadets, who were obviously guarding the entrance and refused to let him back in. They had attacked him and he had nerve pinched them (a defense that he had retained after the transformation), before they could cause any harm. He had escaped bruised, and had been punished by the Academy for 'attacking without provocation'. The others had of course escaped punishment.

Even now he could see Thompson and many other cadets eying him with malice.

Professor Hanley poked his head around the door. "Cadets, you may take your places." The nervous chattering did not stop as they shuffled in. "In silence!" He added loudly.

"Well, this is it," Thela muttered looking suddenly nervous.

"Indeed." He could think of nothing better to say.

They were separated as Thela sat in her seat in the back row and Spock made his way to the middle. He deftly avoided a foot that was intending to trip him and watched as it retreated disappointedly under its table. He took his place and pulled his paper towards him.

"Sir, I have not been issued the correct paper."

"Sorry cadet." The professor in charge of handing out the exams did not sound sorry at all. Without another word he threw the correct paper on Spock's desk and stalked off with the wrong one.

Hanley checked the clock from his position at the front of the room. "The time is 0900, you have 90 minutes to complete the exam. You may begin."

There was a flurry of movement as everyone feverishly opened their papers and began scribbling the answers. Spock worked his way systematically through the test, deaf to the world around him. As he had expected, the test was straight forward, yet as he finished it 80 minutes later he noticed that many of his fellow cadets did not hold the same opinion.

Directly in front of him he could see Thompson chewing his pen nervously as he attempted to finish the second page. He had five more pages to go, and the questions got harder closer to the end. The cadet was pounding the buttons on his calculator ferociously, and the note pages in front of him showed all the scribbling that he had done. He balled one of them up and it fell to the floor. A professor glared at him and plonked the paper back onto the table in front of him.

"Cadet, even incorrect calculations are useful. You might get marks for trying," he whispered.

Grudgingly, Thompson smoothed out the paper, but soon began scribbling on a new piece instead. Spock could not help but notice that the large cadet scuffed his shoes on the floor nervously.

Professors patrolled the room and stared at the clock in the hope that the exam would soon be over. They were not allowed to do anything but keep an eye on the cadets in case of cheating, and it seemed that the boredom was running high. Such a thing was not necessary on Vulcan, as Vulcan children considered cheating to be illogical and dishonorable. Earth however, was a different story.

So far, at least two different cadets had been bustled out of the hall and their papers ripped up for making the mistake of cheating. In cases such as these, the cadets were sent away from the Academy in disgrace, although some managed to persuade examiners to allow a re-sit. Of course, the re-sits were generally in a blank room with only the examiner for company to ensure that no more cheating occurred.

Hanley walked brusquely back to the front of the hall. "Stop writing please, the exam is over. Leave your papers on the table in front of you; professors Madden and Carter will collect them."

Thompson snapped his paper closed in annoyance and pushed it to the edge of the table. He had not finished. Other cadets were hurriedly finishing sentences and closing their own papers, while the professors collected them.

Madden nodded to Spock as he walked past and met Carter in the middle of the rows of desks. Together they walked to the front of the room and placed the papers in a neat pile.

Hanley waited until they had finished before turning back to the sea of faces before him. "Congratulations on completing your exam, cadets. Dismissed." There was a scraping of chairs and a smattering of nervous talk broke out. "Silence, please."

The cadets filtered through the doors, wearing alternately relieved or disappointed expressions. One cadet was slapping himself on the forehead and muttering under his breath. Silence reigned until they reached the corridor that ran past the examination hall, and then the crowd erupted into noise.

Thela bounced up to him, looking immensely relieved. "I'm glad that's over. Now all I have today is Chemistry."

Spock did not have a chance to reply as Thompson forced his bulk between them, ignoring Thela's indignant mutterings in Andorian. "Leech, you cost me the grade I deserved."

"I am unaware of any action on my part that would have done so."

Thompson poked an ominously quivering finger into Spock's face. "Don't get smart with me. You gave me the wrong notes."

"You are mistaken, I gave you no notes. You read my information, but did not realise that it was incorrect."

"I'll make you pay for ruining my chances."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "The result you receive will be through no fault of mine."

Thompson swore at him. "You should have told me they were the wrong ones."

"I incorrectly assumed," Spock retorted coolly, "that you were intelligent enough to reach that conclusion without my input."

Thompson stared at him for a moment, looking as though he wanted to punch the Vulcan in the face, but simply walked away, having apparently decided that getting reprimanded now would not help his situation.

"Good one," Thela said, grinning.

"Thank you."

The rest of the exams that week passed in a blur, and most cadets were relieved to see the back of them. Now all they had to do was wait, which turned out to be the most excruciating part of all. Fortunately, they did not have to wait long.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The mess hall was buzzing with conversation on the morning of the results, many cadets appearing satisfied with what they had achieved. It seemed that their year group had been the most successful so far, with most coming back for a second year of study.

"Bones, I can't believe you got 100% in biology!" Kirk exclaimed as they all sat around their usual table.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'm a doctor. I know it all with my eyes closed, I shouldn't have taken the exam in the first place, but they forced me to."

"Don't go round telling everyone that," Kirk muttered comparatively. "Let them all think you're a genius."

"Are you saying that I'm _not_ a genius?" McCoy bristled. "I got 100%!"

"I was just joking Bones," Kirk sniggered, slapping the doctor on the shoulder. McCoy grunted and took a swig of his celebration coffee.

"So how did you do in your exams, Spock?" Kirk asked.

McCoy snorted. "Jim, do you actually _have_ to ask? He probably got full marks for everything."

"Did you?" Kirk asked in amusement.

"Negative."

McCoy almost choked on his coffee in shock. "This must be a dream," he coughed, mopping up the spilt liquid.

"So which subject did you fail to get top marks?" Kirk asked, seeming unable to help himself.

"Command. I received 99.5%."

"Ouch." Kirk grinned. "Still, that's more than me; I got 99%."

"Good Lord I'm sitting with nerds," McCoy complained. Kirk punched him in the arm.

"So what did you get in command, Len?" Thela asked curiously.

McCoy grinned wickedly. "Let's just say that they were impressed with the way that I yelled at people, but not my ability to take commands."

"You still passed though?" Kirk asked.

McCoy gave him a sharp look. "Of course I did! Not by as much as you three though."

"How much by?" Thela pressed.

"I'm not going to be kicked out and have the door slammed in my face if that's what you're hoping for," McCoy drawled. "I got around 90%."

Kirk gave him a flat look. "You sound disappointed. What did you expect; 105?"

"90% is a highly respectable mark," Spock reminded McCoy.

The doctor shrugged. "Next to yours it sounds much worse. You lot make me feel inferior," he whined playfully.

"I fail to understand the need to complain."

"Spock, I'm not complaining. Jim, do I sound like I'm complaining?"

"Yes," Kirk replied.

McCoy scowled. "Well maybe you're the wrong person to ask. Look, I never said I was disappointed with my score. Actually, I was expecting a lot less, considering how much I argued back."

"You know more than you think you do," Thela quoted.

"I recognise that..." McCoy murmured.

"Spock," Kirk answered automatically.

"I did not say that."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "_Doctor _Spock."

"I knew I recognised it from somewhere," McCoy exclaimed.

"Trust you to forget where," Thela teased.

"I'll have you know I have a good memory when it comes to quotes."

"Right," Thela grinned. "Then I'm a smurf."

"A smurf?" Spock asked in bemusement.

"A cartoon character," Thela explained.

"You know Spock, I think you spend too much time asking us to explain things," McCoy drawled.

"If you did not insist upon speaking in illogical riddles, an explanation would not be necessary."

"They can't be that illogical," McCoy retorted. "Thela understands them too."

"I had to get my human friend to explain them at first. I think humans are the only people who actually understand them." Thela explained.

"Hmpf," McCoy muttered, going back to his coffee sulkily.

"I think Spock and Thela won that argument, Bones." Kirk laughed.

"Shut up," McCoy snapped from the depths of his coffee mug.

"So has Thompson got his revenge for that exam yet?" Kirk asked. He had of course been filled in by Thela, although the anonymous and threatening note remained a secret.

"Negative. However, my belongings are becoming misplaced with increasing frequency."

"Probably the best he can do," Kirk snorted.

"Have you heard that he managed to get a place for next year?" Thela asked.

"He failed the exam," Spock pointed out.

"I know, but apparently he has friends in high places," Thela explained, disgust dripping from her voice.

"Just how many marks did he get exactly?" McCoy asked Spock.

"Five of a possible thirty."

"Five?" Kirk sputtered. "There are people who got 18 that are being refused places."

"Damn corruption," McCoy muttered. "You better hope and pray that you don't still have to share a room with him next year, Spock."

"When do we find out our room placements?" Thela asked.

"1500 tomorrow," Spock replied instantly.

"Hopefully we'll be near each other."

"I wouldn't bet on it Jim," McCoy said grumpily.


	9. Chapter 9

_No matter what we say  
No matter what we say_

McCoy as it happened was right. Spock was forced to endure two more years of Thompson's company on top of the comments that everyone else said about him. Luckily, Thompson had not yet had a good enough opportunity to get his 'revenge' on Spock. Instead, he had made do with ransacking Spock's possessions and sometimes dropping water bombs on him whenever he walked past their window.

One evening, Spock had decided to venture into the grounds once more for some peace, and had returned to discover Thompson to be on his side of the room once more. Normally this would not be unusual, but the room was suspiciously devoid of broken or scattered objects this time. Instead, Thompson was sitting on Spock's bed, holding something in his hands.

"Nice photograph, blood sucker," he sneered as Spock neared.

Looking over Thompson's shoulder, he noticed that his last family photograph had been found. It was one of the last days that they had been together on Kesarah before the transformation.

They were standing in the village, and Spock could practically see Dakino as he graciously photographed the family. Amanda's hair was billowing in the wind and she was smiling, her eyes dancing with amusement at some long forgotten joke. Sarek stood proudly next to his wife, his expression impassive and stoic, but his eyes belying a happiness that he never allowed himself to show, except in the rarest of half smiles directed towards Amanda. In front of them both, a younger version of himself stood, his eyes fixed on something behind Dakino. None of them had any idea of what would happen in the days to come.

He treasured this photograph, and could not bear to see Thompson touching it.

"Replace it," he snapped, struggling to maintain some vestiges of control.

"Why would I do that? Don't you think other people would like to see it?"

"Replace it," he repeated, lunging for the photograph.

Thompson was too quick for him and his hand groped empty air instead of the metal frame. "Hmm. The Vulcan Ambassador and his wife," he mused. "You look like their son." He laughed. "But you're a Kesarahn piece of filth, not Vulcan."

"I was born Vulcan." He admitted, before he knew what he was saying. Fortunately, Thompson simply laughed at him.

"You really think I believe that? You expect me to believe that you _magically_ managed to become a Kesarahn? You _expect _me to believe that pack of lies?" He sniggered. "Did you think that because you happen to look Vulcan, it'd bring you acceptance? How did you get this photograph-did you fake it?"

Spock ignored the latter questions completely. "I do not require your acceptance."

"I'd never give it to you anyway," Thompson snorted. "What were you, a welcoming committee to them or something?" His lip curled as he looked at Spock once more. "He liked you and brought you back to Vulcan, didn't he?"

"You are incorrect."

"Was it you who murdered his wife?" He studied the photo once more. "You had the opportunity after the photo was taken, I can see that. He definitely took you back to Vulcan though."

"I live on Vulcan." He was shocked to find that he almost growled the worlds.

"Did he pay you to assassinate his wife?"

"I find your theories to be greatly lacking in logic," Spock snapped. He was angry at himself for not finding a better hiding place for the photo.

Thompson glared at him. "Fine, lie for all I care, but I know the truth. Maybe I should tell people..."

Spock snatched back the photo. "I will not allow you to-"

"You won't allow me?" Thompson shouted over him. "You won't _allow_ me?! Just who do you think you are, Kesarahn?"

"I am still legally classed as a Vulcan, therefore it is incorrect to refer to me as Kesarahn."

Thompson glared malevolently at him. "Dirt like you could never claim to be Vulcan. Every time you say that, you soil a great race."

"You admire the Vulcans." It was not a question; the answer was evident in Thompson's eyes.

"Well done," the man sneered. "Yes. I do. My father was going to marry a Vulcan woman, but she was murdered by your kind. She fought to the very end."

"I did not know."

"You wouldn't," Thompson retorted scathingly. "Apart from the obvious reason that you drink blood, her death is why I hate your race."

"I understand," he whispered. Although Thompson could never fully know why, he did understand. There were times when he hated himself for what he had done.

"You understand, do you?" He suddenly spat condescendingly. "You disgust me. Do you really think that pretending to understand will make me forgive you?"

"That is not my intention."

"Of course it is; you just aren't honest enough to admit it. You're one of them."

"If you believe that, you do not know me."

"Why should I want to know you?" Thompson snarled. "Why should I have to talk to scum like you? My father's fiancée did, and look where it got her. If she knew what I was doing talking to you now, she'd be spinning in her grave."

Spock did not answer, knowing that a reply would only further anger the man in front of him. What was there to say in the face of years of resentment and pain?

Thompson stood up and stalked over to his own bed. "Tell no one, leech. Surely even you understand why no one should know." He glanced at Spock. "Don't make me spell it out, work it out for yourself. Use that brain your always bragging about." He paused for a moment to give Spock time to think. "Do you understand?"

"I believe so."

"Good. Then we have an agreement." For the first time since he'd known Thompson, there was no anger in his voice. Only anxiety. The contrast was striking. "You keep my secret and I won't tell anyone about the photograph, although people should know about you murdering her. Do you agree to it?"

"Affirmative."

Thompson grunted, his malice reappearing in his demeanour. "If I find that you've told anyone, the whole planet will know that you murdered the Ambassador's wife." Without another word he stalked out the room.

Spock stared at the door in contemplation. He had seen a side of his room mate that he had never before known existed. A vulnerable side. Thompson was pained by the memory of the Vulcan woman's death to such an extent that he refused to speak of it or let anyone else know of it. Presumably it brought back too many memories, and if everyone knew, they would pity him and question him about it. He would be forced to deal with the memories more than if it had been kept secret. Also, his tough exterior would be shattered. Thompson apparently enjoyed this image and did not realise that many despised him for it. Maybe he just acted that way to hide how he really felt underneath.

For the first time ever, Spock felt pity for Thompson, although he would never admit it.


	10. Chapter 10

_We're the song inside the tune  
Full of beautiful mistakes_

"How many times have they improved the program since we saw it in the first year, Spock?" McCoy asked anxiously as the group walked down the corridor.

"Approximately six."

"Great. So it's going to be the titan of all computer programming."

"Don't worry Bones. It'll be a synch," Kirk drawled, swiping an apple from an abandoned tray.

"You don't know where that's been," Thela protested, regarding the fruit warily.

Kirk wiped it on his sleeve. "It looks fine." He stashed it in his pocket.

"The test was hard enough the first time we did it," McCoy continued to complain, glaring at Kirk. "You _would_ have to do the test again and pick us as your crew. You couldn't just accept your mark and be done with it!"

"You're the best crew."

"At any other time, Jim, I'd be flattered," McCoy growled. "But once was enough. You got 80 percent, what more do you need?"

"100," Kirk replied seriously.

"The test is unbeatable," Spock reminded him.

"Exactly!" McCoy squawked. "Thanks for agreeing with me Spock! See Jim, even Spock says it's impossible, so why bother?"

"It is, as the Doctor says, impossible to receive full marks," Spock continued.

"Exactly!" McCoy repeated.

"Bones, you're starting to sound like an echo," Kirk quipped.

"This doesn't replace our other mark, does it?" Thela asked anxiously.

"No, this is my re-sit. You're just lucky enough to be coming along for the ride."

"Yeah... a haunted rollercoaster," McCoy muttered miserably.

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Bones, relax. Gary will be there as well to help you through it."

"How is _that_ supposed to relax me? Everyone knows that Gary's the biggest prankster on the complex! He'll probably rig my station so that it'll explode in my face. I'm telling you; I will walk out of there with no eyebrows!"

Kirk chuckled at him light heartedly. "He'd never do that to you." McCoy shot him a sceptical look. "Alright, he might... but not during a test."

"I'm a Doctor, why am I meant to be navigating anyway?"

"You've got to be prepared," Kirk shrugged."Think of it as practise."

"I don't think it'll ever be useful. My place during a crisis is Sick Bay, not on the Bridge steering the tin can of a ship!"

"You might get called to the Bridge for a medical emergency," Thela pointed out.

"Not to _navigate_!"

Kirk sighed melodramatically. "Alright, I'll humour you. Imagine that you _do_ get called to the Bridge for a medical emergency. What would you do?"

"Get to the casualty, _obviously_."

"Right, so assuming the casualty... who is the navigator... dies, what would you do?"

"I see where this is going..." McCoy muttered.

"You'd be able to step in and navigate if there was no replacement!" Kirk concluded triumphantly.

"That would _never_ happen, Jim."

"You do not know for certain."

"Spock's right Bones; anything can happen."

McCoy glared at the exultant Kirk as they approached the foreboding door. "Whatever, let's just get this over with."

Kirk grinned and pushed open the door. Thela turned on the lights and took her place at the science station, while McCoy sat in the navigator's chair. Since Spock also had some engineering knowledge, he occupied the engineering station. Gary Mitchell sat at weapons control, grinning at Uhura as she turned on the communication panel. Lastly, Thompson entered along with another security guard who stood near Spock's station, in front of the door.

The doors closed and locked, sealing them in. Thompson grinned at Spock in triumph, and the Vulcan frowned at this uncharacteristic gesture.

Uhura's voice pierced the awkward silence. "Sir, I'm receiving a distress call from the USS Kobayashi Maru."

Kirk swivelled around lazily to face her. "Location?"

"Approximately five minutes away Captain."

"Good. Give the co-ordinates to McCoy."

McCoy pressed a few buttons and looked into his screen. "I have them sir."

"Then lay in a course," Kirk replied.

"Aye sir," McCoy muttered, his hands already flying over his console.

"Sir, I'm picking up a transmission between Klingon ships," Uhura announced.

Kirk did not even blink. "How many Klingon ships?"

"Two, sir." Thela had answered this time, her form bent over the science scanner.

The Kobayashi Maru appeared on screen, heavily damaged and still being attacked by Klingons. The room shook as their ship was hit by phasers.

"Shields down to 75%" Spock announced, his calm voice juxtaposing the carnage on the view screen.

Kirk did nothing, and McCoy turned around to stare at him incredulously. "Well Captain?"

"Hold position." Kirk did not even sound remotely ruffled.

Another hit. "Shields at 65%," Spock frowned. There should be more damage than this; perhaps to the engines, but his instruments read nothing.

Kirk still appeared confident. "Any other damage mister Spock?"

"No sir." Spock rechecked his equipment in confusion, but it was working perfectly.

"Captain." Mitchell sounded annoyed. "Aren't we going to fire back?"

"Not yet," Kirk answered.

"Captain, I'm receiving a strange reading from within the vicinity."

Kirk turned to confusion, his calm appearance immediately replaced by tension. "What is it?"

"I don't know, sir."

Kirk lost some of his bravado with that statement. "Mister Spock, see if you can identify it. Lieutenant Thela, man the engineering station."

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw Thompson make an involuntary movement. Apparently, Kirk had noticed too, for he rounded on the man immediately. "Something wrong, Ensign?"

"No sir," despite his words, Thompson looked nervous.

"Captain," Mitchell raised his voice urgently. "The two ships are closing in on us."

"Get ready to reverse at full speed."

Spock glanced at his viewer just in time to see the energy reading before it was replaced by a materialising Klingon ship. "A Klingon ship has just decloaked in front of us."

Kirk had definitely not been expecting that. "Fire at the engines," he barked in desperation.

Mitchell pressed a button and phasers rocketed towards the enemy ship, but they were dodged just in time.

"The two other ships are preparing to fire phasers," Spock reported, sounding as though he were discussing the weather.

"Reverse now."

McCoy pressed a sequence of buttons. The ships jerked backwards and the phasers from the enemy ships missed, hitting each other instead.

"There is severe damage to the Bridge of both ships," Spock announced. "However, they still possess weapons."

Kirk's triumphant expression fell flat. Evidently, this was something else that he had not been expecting. "Fire at engines."

Obediently, Mitchell fired but caught only one ship. The other two fired at exactly the same time. Sparks fell from the ceiling as the room shuddered and Uhura yelled as her station burned itself out, the sparks narrowly missing her.

She flicked the switches gingerly. "Outside communications are down."

"Damn," was all that Kirk could offer as a reply, his confidence evaporating like water.

"Shields down to 45 percent," Thela announced to the room at large.

Kirk's armchair beeped and he flicked a switch. "Kirk here."

"This is Doctor Joyce. The sick bay is in flames."

"Use the hangar deck as a temporary post for the injured," Kirk replied, thinking quickly.

"Aye sir." The line went abruptly dead.

"Mister Mitchell, continue firing at the engines of the enemy ships."

"Aye sir." Mitchell set about firing and got some hits, while McCoy manoeuvred the ship in an attempt to dodge any dangerous missiles.

The ship sustained another hit and the room shook once more. "There is severe damage to the middle decks sir!" Thela shouted over the din, worry evident in the strained tone of her voice.

McCoy's console sparked and began to violently billow smoke. "Damn it!"

One of the Klingon ships stopped dead in space. "One ship has been disabled." Spock's voice was slightly muffled as he leaned over his console.

"Mister Mitchell, fire at will. We must save the Kobayashi Maru." Kirk turned to McCoy and indicated his station. "How bad is it?"

"I can't tell through all the smoke, sir."

"Try to put it out."

"Aye sir," McCoy retrieved one of the fire extinguishers, stumbling as the floor shook between his feet.

"Shields at 20%!" Thela shouted.

"Mister Spock, what is the status of the Klingon ships?"

"One has impulse capabilities only, with limited phaser power. The other is almost fully functional."

They suffered another hit and something from the ceiling landed on Thompson. It was fake of course, since it was a simulation, but he fell dramatically anyway, crying out in convincing pain as he did so.

"He's dead, sir." The other security guard reported solemnly.

McCoy's station refused to stop smoking. "Ensign, help McCoy with that fire," Kirk coughed.

Fake blood began to seep from Thompson's head and formed a puddle nearby. Thela slipped slightly as she attempted to make repairs to her own console, which was not working properly. The ship shuddered once again and Thela's console exploded dramatically.

"Thela!" Uhura shouted in alarm.

"Doctor, attend to Thela. Uhura, help the ensign with the fire." Kirk did not seem overly worried, since he knew that true injury could not happen in a simulation.

"The final ships have been destroyed," Spock said calmly.

Kirk clapped his hands onto Mitchell's shoulders. "Well done." He turned to Spock. "Any sign of more ships decloaking?"

"Negative."

Kirk sighed in a mixture of relief and triumph. He produced his apple and sat back munching it. "Kirk to engineering."

"Engineering here sir."

"Jim," McCoy interrupted, sounding alarmed. "Thela needs to get to Sick Bay right now!"

"Doctor, this is a simulation..."

"No," McCoy interrupted. "She's injured; really injured."

Everyone stared in shock, but Kirk was the first to react. "Stop!" He bellowed to the room in general. "Professor, we have a real casualty!" The apple tumbled to the floor unheeded.

Everyone abandoned their posts and began to crowd around. Thompson sat up, looking stricken. There was blue blood pouring everywhere.

"Bones?" Kirk's voice desperately pleaded for the doctor to reassure him that the wound was not as serious as it looked.

The doctor looked the most stricken of them all. "A piece of debris from the explosion severed a main artery. If she doesn't get medical attention soon..." The sentence was left hanging in the air.

"Can she be moved?" Professor Hanley asked urgently, having just run into the room with a group of medics on his heels. They were carrying a stretcher.

"If I can keep pressure on her wound, she can be moved," McCoy answered. "Help me move her."

The medics gently transferred her to a stretcher. One of them took her pulse. "I'm not getting a heartbeat!"

"Perform resuscitation and don't stop until we get to Sick Bay!" McCoy barked. They left quickly and the cadets moved to follow, but Hanley blocked their exit.

"How did this happen?"

Thompson was the one who answered. "She was repairing the console when it exploded."

Hanley looked grim. "As of now, you're all suspects."

"Suspects for what?" Uhura asked in surprise.

"This program was tampered with. Nothing went to plan, and I want to find out who did it."

"Are you suggesting that someone tried to kill her?" Thompson asked, fear adding colour to his voice.

Hanley's eyes narrowed. "Nervous, cadet?"

All eyes turned to Thompson immediately. "What?"

"Come with me please, cadet." Thompson's voice was ominous. Reluctantly, Thompson followed.

As soon as their way was free, Spock and Kirk ran through the corridors desperately, ignoring the indignant shouts of people they pushed aside. Finally they arrived in sick bay, only to see McCoy's grim face.

"They're operating on her now. I don't know enough about her physiology to help."

"Will she be alright?"

"God knows Jim," McCoy whispered in defeat. "It didn't look good when I left." He noticed their expressions. "What?"

"There's going to be an investigation," Kirk muttered.

"Why? It was an accident."

"Professor Hanley believes that the simulation was tampered with."

McCoy stared at Spock incredulously. "No one in their right mind would do that!"

Kirk shuffled his feet guiltily. "I did."

"What?" McCoy bellowed.


	11. Chapter 11

_And everywhere we go  
And everywhere we go  
The sun will always shine_

Thompson shifted in his seat as Hanley glared at him. "Did you rig the simulation?"

"Some of it," Thompson admitted, figuring that the professor would find out anyway. He had probably left evidence everywhere; he was no computer expert.

Hanley looked surprised at this revelation. "You don't even try to deny it?"

"No. I never wanted this to happen; although in a way it's a bonus. All I did was add a few more ships and rig a station or two to make it look damaged."

"Why?" He received no reply. "Either you tell me or you tell the police."

"You can't threaten me."

"You want a career here, don't you?" Thompson still did not appear intimidated. Hanley rolled his eyes angrily. "Look Thompson; Cadet Thela could die from this. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

"She wasn't the target, but I don't care either way if she gets hurt."

"Who was the target then?"

Thompson laughed without humour, his eyes becoming brighter as insanity revealed itself. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that, professor."

"Then you can tell the police." Thompson twitched involuntarily. "Well if you don't want to tell them, you'll have to tell me instead."

"I only rigged some of it."

"I know, you told me. What I want to know is why."

Thompson seemed to struggle with a reckless sense of abandon. _He wants credit for his work_, Hanley thought in disgust. _He's proud of what he's done_.

"It's complicated."

"Where you trying to sabotage Kirk's test?"

Thompson laughed. "What would be the point? The test is unbeatable."

"Then why sabotage it?"

"It wasn't sabotage sir," Thompson said, his voice passionate with suppressed emotion. "It was justice."

Hanley was confused. "Justice?"

"An eye for an eye."

"Cadet I have no idea what you're talking about. Are you trying to tell me that you're getting revenge on Cadet Thela?"

Thompson's lip curled. "No. She was never the target."

"What was your aim, Thompson?"

Thompson stared Hanley straight in the eye, his face reflecting the arrogance he possessed in assuming that he could not be punished. "I guess you'll find out sooner or later, a big _intelligent_ man like you."

Hanley ignored the insubordination. "Tell me."

"Like I said. Justice."

"Where is the other saboteur?" Hanley asked, changing tack. Thompson had mentioned that he only rigged some of it.

Thompson shook his head, almost as though he regretted not knowing who had inadvertently helped him. "I don't know who sabotaged the rest."

Hanley scrutinised him for a moment. "I believe that."

"That means a lot," Thompson muttered sarcastically.

"Why do you call it justice?" Hanley asked once more, hoping to catch Thompson off guard.

The cadet's eyes adopted a haunted look. "When a life is taken it must be avenged."

"I don't follow."

"A few years ago... someone was murdered. Someone I know- knew." His face looked pained at having to use the past tense. "I was avenging them." His expression turned ugly and his voice took on a maniacal edge. "I was enforcing justice on a member of a race of cretins."

"Who were you punishing?" Hanley suspected the answer, but he wanted to hear the guilty cadet to confirm it.

"I think you know."

"Humour me."

"The reason I rigged that simulation... was to punish the rat for what his race did. At the last moment, the Andorian" he spat the word, "got in the way. She ruined my plan."

"Who was meant to be caught in the explosion?"

Thompson sat back, looked him smugly in the eye, and with an air of supreme, arrogant superiority, told Hanley the answer.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"_You_ rigged the simulation?" McCoy asked loudly.

"Yes," Kirk admitted, "but only some of it."

"You did not cause the engineering console to explode?"

Kirk looked Spock in the eye and said with sincerity, "Do you really think I would do something like that?" He shook his head at himself. "I only rigged the first bit."

"I _thought_ you looked too relaxed at first," McCoy muttered.

"Why did you sabotage it?"

Kirk had the good grace to look ashamed of himself. "I wanted to make it beatable."

"That's all you did?" McCoy asked sounding slightly sceptical.

"Yes."

"It's not like the instructors to make consoles actually explode," McCoy said more to himself than to anyone else. "Don't they normally use sound effects, sparks and a smoke machine?"

"I think so," Kirk nodded.

"Perhaps that too was not scheduled."

"Spock, are you saying that someone _else_ sabotaged it as well?" Kirk asked.

"Yes."

"I bet it was Thompson," McCoy growled.

"He may not be responsible," Spock pointed out logically.

"No one else in that room was likely to do anything like that."

"What about Gary?" McCoy asked.

"He _does_ know where to draw the line, Bones. This person obviously didn't."

"That's news to me," McCoy muttered under his breath. Only Spock, with his heightened hearing, heard the comment, but decided that now was not the time to comment on it.

"Thompson is therefore the most logical suspect," Spock concluded.

"I think so too," Kirk agreed.

"Where is he?" McCoy asked, looking around the room as though expecting the cadet to suddenly appear.

"He is currently in Professor Hanley's office."

A nurse walked out of the operating theatre and McCoy rushed over to her anxiously. "How is she?"

"I'm sorry... I'm too busy to talk right now." She proceeded to ransack the cupboards.

"What's her condition?"

The nurse gathered various equipment into a tray. "I'm too busy," she repeated, but caught sight of McCoy's expression and softened slightly. "She's hanging in there." She disappeared back into the theatre.

McCoy began to pace angrily. "Right now I could kill Thompson."

"I think we all can, Bones."

McCoy looked up, anguish written across his face in painfully bold letters. "Jim, you don't understand. I'm not sure, I haven't felt this for anyone in years... but I... I think I..." He swallowed, unable to finish his sentence.

"You... love her?" Kirk repeated in astonishment. "Bones..." His voice held a huge amount of pain as he realised what his friend was going through.

He walked over and put a hand on the anguished doctor's shoulder. "She'll make it, she's tough."

Several more minutes passed with no news on Thela's condition. An occasional nurse would appear to dispose of or gather supplies, and each time they faced a barrage of questions. Every time the answer was the same.

She was barely hanging onto life.

Finally, the Doctor exited the theatre, looking grim.

"Well?" McCoy barked, his frayed emotions almost getting the better of him.

"She's not going to make it. There's nothing I can do."

"She's still alive? Can we see her?" Kirk asked hopefully even as McCoy slumped in defeat.

"Yes, but I warn you now; we're not sure how long she'll survive."

Spock winced at the Doctor's tactlessness as he saw McCoy's face crumple visibly. "Why can you not give her replacement blood?" The Vulcan finally asked, fighting to remain in control of his emotions.

"She has a rare blood type. We can't give her any new blood unless it's flown in, and that'll take too long. I'm sorry." He shuffled away wearily.

Apprehensively, they made their way into the operating theatre to be greeted by a scene straight out of a nightmare. Surgical equipment lay scattered on trays around the room, most of them covered in blue blood.

Thela herself lay on the table covered by a sheet, her face a pale and unhealthy light blue. The rise and fall of her chest was barely discernible as she struggled to breath, and the monitor showed a weak pulse. There was a bandage around her head and some on her hands, presumably from injuries inflicted by debris.

"Oh God," Kirk whispered, hovering in the doorway.

"Jim?" McCoy asked, not yet able to see Thela as Kirk was blocking the doorway. Kirk moved forward, and McCoy gasped audibly.

The Doctor moved forward and grasped one of Thela's hands gently. There was no reaction.

"Can she hear us?" Kirk asked.

"I doubt it Jim," McCoy rasped. Nevertheless, he began murmuring to her quietly. Spock and Kirk stood back slightly to give McCoy some semblance of privacy.

"You'll get better, Thela," McCoy whispered.

"Listen to Bones," Kirk ordered. "You can't ignore your doctor's orders." Despite the circumstances, Kirk managed a weak smile in McCoy direction.

Spock glanced up at the panel above Thela's head, alarmed to see that her life signs were dropping lower than before. "Doctor..." he whispered softly.

McCoy followed his gaze and swore violently, his eyes becoming shiny with tears that he would not allow himself to shed. "Thela, you have to fight it."

The Andorian's breathing faltered, her fingers briefly grasping McCoy's hand. Miraculously, she managed to open her eyes and smile slightly. Staring in the doctor's direction, Thela exhaled peacefully as her heart stopped. Her eyes remained open even though she had just entered death.

McCoy's head fell in defeat onto the pillow beside her hand.


	12. Chapter 12

_Sun will always  
Always shine_

The next morning, Thompson was officially arrested upon charges of manslaughter. No one was sad to see him go. None of his things remained in the shared quarters, leaving Spock truly alone to dwell on the guilt that he felt for Thela's death.

If he had done as Thela suggested and told the staff of the death threat, she would never have been placed in danger. Thompson might have been caught earlier, preventing her accident.

It was his fault.

Time continued to pass sluggishly and tortured him with the knowledge that he would have to go to the Academy memorial service. Gathering his control, he drifted through the corridors like a wraith, ignoring the sympathetic faces that he passed.

He took his place on the front row next to a melancholic Kirk. McCoy appeared a few minutes later and seated himself on Kirk's other side, looking bleary eyed and exhausted. Thela's death had been hardest on the doctor.

Solemn music began to play over the speakers, and professor Hanley appeared on stage. Somewhere, a sob echoed around the room.

"As you all know, we are gathered here today to honour the memory of Thela, daughter of Thalav, who passed away yesterday." He looked arppropriately grim and seemd to pause to gather his thoughts. Obviously, he had never had to do this before." Thelas' friend Violet has offered to speak in honour of the cadet's memory."

Hanley walked off stage and a short cadet dressed in black appeared from behind the curtains at the side of the stage. She looked distraught, and when she spoke her voice was cracked and tearful. "I knew Thela for several years," she stammered nervously, "and I feel privileged to have known such a kind and selfless person. Throughout the time that I knew her, she was eager to learn anything new, and had a mind keenly devoted to knowledge." She looked lost in the past and Spock realised that Violet had been the friend to teach Thela countless Earth idioms. "Anyone who knew her would know that she was extremely intelligent, and enjoyed problem solving. She also enjoyed learning of other cultures, and her understanding of this allowed her to be the generous and bubbly person that everyone loved so much. I think that everyone in this room would agree that she will be greatly missed." A few acknowledging murmurs greeted her words as she walked off stage, unable to force any more words through her tears.

Hanley reappeared. "Thos of you who are new to the Academy will want, I am sure, to hear a bit more about her. We do not know much of her early life, but we do know that she grew up on Andor as the daughter of Thalav, a wealthy Andorian merchant.

She was an excellent student who could have chosen a wide variety of careers, but chose to leave her family home and come here to San Francisco, in order to study to become a science officer. She was among the top in her class here, and passed her examinations with flying colours. This was to be her last year and I am proud to say that she would have made a brilliant star ship officer.

This is of course a great tragedy, and she will be sorely missed by staff and students alike. Would anyone like to say a few words?"

For once the hall was silent, but one cadet stood up shyly. "I... never really knew Thela well, but what I can say is that she was without a doubt one of the friendliest cadets I met in my time here. Without her... I would have been lost in my first year. I regret that I never got to know her better." Blushing furiously, she sat back down.

Hanley looked around the room in search of anyone else who wanted to speak on her behalf, but everyone who knew her was too tongue tied by distraught. "Let us have a two minute silence in her memory."

As one, everyone in the hall bowed their heads and closed their eyes as if in prayer. Spock contemplated the floor and tried not to think of the oppressive silence. Even worse was the empty chair next to him that Thela would have occupied. Already, the sound of her carefree laughter was fading from his ears, and the image of her was dimming.

She bobbed in front of him, trying to say something to him, laughing at some joke that he could not hear through the deafening silence. He shook his head softly but his ears refused to clear. Her image dissolved in front of his eyes, and the floor came back into view.

A slow, soulful music began to waft from the speakers and everyone took that as their cue to get up and leave. The normal rush for the door was gone, replaced by a melancholy that permeated the very air. When they finally did emerge from the room, the expected clamour of voices did not begin. Instead, solemn or tearful faces stared straight ahead, haunted by the ghost of the popular Andorian cadet.

Without deciding to, the trio found themselves heading out towards her favourite part of the grounds.

McCoy shook his head. "She can't be gone..." he murmured, gazing at the defiantly beautiful scene surrounding them.

"I know Bones," Kirk whispered. "I miss her too."

"She was so young," McCoy continued. "Her whole life ahead of her, and Thompson took it away."

A gentle breeze ruffled the bank of flowers nearby and a butterfly flew gracefully past. Kirk picked up Thela's favourite type of flower and began to fiddle with it. "It's her birthday."

"Some birthday." McCoy growled. "I'll never forgive that bastard."

"He's getting jailed Bones. He's being punished enough already." Despite his forgiving words, Kirk sounded as though he could gladly wring Thompson's neck.

"He should get the lethal injection," McCoy spat, glaring at Kirk. "I can't believe you're defending him!"

"I'm not defending him. All I'm saying is that he has to live with that on his conscience for the rest of his life."

"He didn't exactly look tortured by it," McCoy snarled vehemently. "He doesn't have a conscience."

Kirk shook his head. "By the time he gets out of prison, he'll have one. He's destroyed his career."

"His _career_ isn't what's important here!"

"To him it is," Kirk replied. "If for nothing else, he'll forever be punishing himself for Thela's death."

"Self punishment," Spock muttered, unheard by the others. "A fate worse than death." He knew the feeling well, had experienced it every time he looked at a photograph of Amanda.

"I still don't understand why he did it."

"That creep didn't need a damn reason!" McCoy muttered angrily.

"He had one though, I'm sure of it."

"Does it matter? Knowing why won't make us understand. It won't bring her back. It won't ever make her rest any easier in her grave." McCoy's voice was getting angrier by the second, but he did not speak in his usual loud shouts. This time, there was a quiet and dangerous fury behind his words.

"There was an investigation. Professor Hanley mentioned one. There has to be something they aren't telling us."

"They don't consider us important enough to explain though," McCoy replied, his voice now startlingly hollow.

"He believed it was a murder attempt," Spock said quietly. "Not an accident."

"We _know_ that Spock," McCoy's exasperation was less heartfelt than it usually was.

"Bones is right. We just need to know _why _she was murdered."

"Thela was not murdered."

"Damn it Spock! If you're suggesting that she's not dead then you've either lost your mind or read too many detective books!"

"I did not state that she was not dead," he explained patiently. "I merely meant that she was not murdered."

"You said that Hanley thought it was murder!" McCoy sputtered in confusion.

"No, I said that it was a murder attempt."

"But the attempt worked Spock, in case you hadn't noticed," McCoy replied acidly.

"Spock, what are you getting at?" Kirk asked, ignoring McCoy's outburst.

"Thela was not the intended target."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Spock, you'd make a rubbish detective. It was _her_ console that exploded."

"Bones... I think he's right."

"Are you both mad?!"

Kirk looked McCoy in the eye calmly. "Do I look mad to you?"

"You know what I think," McCoy growled in response.

"That had better be the grief talking Bones." McCoy's expression said otherwise. "Are you that desperate to see Thela's death as a murder?"

"Desperate?!" McCoy squawked in indignation. "If I was desperate about anything, it'd be that she never died!"

"Well listen to Spock then."

"What if he's wrong? What good would that do?"

"Just listen to him," Kirk snapped. "Spock."

He took a deep breath as he tried to find the right words, aware that this would be a delicate topic. "It was not Thela's console that exploded. Originally she occupied the science console."

McCoy's eyes widened as the realisation hit him. "You're right." He frowned suddenly. "Weren't _you_ at the science station later?"

Kirk groaned in realisation. "This is my fault. I ordered them to swap stations. Spock was originally at engineering..."

"It was not your doing," Spock interrupted, trying in vain to reassure his friend. "You could never have known."

"Thompson looked nervous when you both swapped..." McCoy whispered to himself in comprehension. "He was aiming for..."

Both men turned to face the Vulcan. Spock nodded in confirmation. "I believe I was his target."

"Now wait a minute..." McCoy did not finish his sentence. For once, he was speechless.

"Was this his revenge for the revision notes?" Kirk asked with no small amount of scepticism.

"Negative."

"Well what was it then? Are you going to tell us or do we have to guess?" McCoy exploded.

"You both remember the lecture on the topic of Kesarah?"

"How could we forget?" McCoy asked dryly.

"That was years ago," Kirk murmured. "Back in our first year, wasn't it?"

"Correct. Shortly afterwards... I received a threat."

"What type of threat?" Kirk asked, suspicion colouring his tone.

"To be precise; an anonymous death threat."

"What?!" McCoy exploded suddenly, making Kirk flinch. "So that's what the explosion was, only Thela got it instead of you."

"Spock, you should have told us!"

"Damn right he should have told us!" McCoy was beginning to turn an angry red, an indignant vein pulsing ominously in his forehead. "If you'd told somebody, Thela would still be alive!"

"Informing the staff would not have aided the situation, Doctor."

"From your point of view maybe, but from Thela's..."

McCoy interrupted Kirk. "He could have been arrested long ago, and none of this would have happened! You selfish, pointy eared pathetic excuse for life..." McCoy continued to curse him even as he stormed away.

Kirk ran after him desperately. "Bones! It's not his fault. He didn't know that this would happen." Neither of them realised that Spock could still hear every word that was being said.

"He could have damn well guessed."

"It could have been an idle threat as far as we know; no one signed it."

"It was probably Thompson!" McCoy yelled, conviction written across his face. "He doesn't _do_ idle threats!"

"Spock wouldn't have known that back then."

McCoy waved his hands in the air in desperation. "After Christmas you think he wouldn't have known? Jim, a _rabbit_ would have more sense than him!" Kirk was powerless to do anything as McCoy stormed back inside.

"He's gone," Kirk said apologetically, returning to Spock's side.

"I... expected and deserved that."

"Spock," Kirk said softly, reaching out to touch Spock on the shoulder but remembering the Vulcan's aversion to touch just in time, "you don't deserve it."

He raised an eyebrow. "The consolation is appreciated, but entirely misguided."

Kirk sighed. "You really think that this is your fault don't you?"

"Affirmative."

"Will I ever be able to change your mind?"

"Any attempt to do so would be futile..." In defeat, Spock walked further into the grounds, leaving Kirk staring at the now mangled flower.


	13. Chapter 13

_'Cause we are beautiful no matter what they say  
Yes words won't bring us down_

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After a week of total silence between the two of them, Spock was surprised to say the least to see McCoy outside his quarters.

"Can I come in?" Spock stood aside and McCoy walked in and sat on Thompson's vacated bed. "I'll be honest with you Spock, this was Jim's idea."

"I surmised as much."

McCoy ignored him. "It was Jim's idea but I agree with him."

"Indeed?" He had not been expecting that.

"Indeed what?" McCoy snapped.

"I had not expected this situation to arise."

"Look, I'm _trying_ to say something deep. Do you _have_ to make it more difficult that it already is?"

"I apologise, I was unaware I was doing so."

McCoy snorted. "Anyway, as you've probably guessed by now, I'm here to apologise."

"You are correct; I have already reached that conclusion."

McCoy eyed him in annoyance and irritation. "Would you let me finish? Apparently I was out of line."

"Your actions were justified," Spock countered.

"You don't really believe that do you?" McCoy asked in shock.

"I would not have said so if it was incorrect."

McCoy shook his head hopelessly. "Jim's right; you're a lost case."

"I am not a 'lost case' as you say Doctor."

"The whole point of me coming here was to admit that I was wrong. How can I do that when you don't agree with me?" McCoy sighed and leaned forwards. "Spock, what do you think would have happened if you _had_ told someone about the death threat?"

"Thompson would have been punished."

"Would he?" McCoy questioned. "How do you know that anyone would have listened to you?"

"When presented with the evidence there would have been no alternative."

McCoy rubbed his face wearily and leaned back once more, folding his arms across his chest. "What evidence?"

"The note."

"There was no proof who it was from, was there?"

"There was no signature," Spock agreed.

McCoy nodded encouragingly. "Exactly. We just _assumed_ that it was Thompson, based on his arrest."

"Thompson was responsible."

"Yes, we know that _now_, but back then the professors wouldn't have seen it that way. They'd have seen a threat, and no clue as to who it was from."

The penny dropped through the foggy cloud of self punishment in Spock's mind. "You are suggesting that they would have seen the threat as unimportant and done nothing?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm suggesting."

"That is highly illogical. The threat was not idle."

"We know that now, but we didn't know that then. My point is that your silence didn't cause Thela's death. No one would have done anything anyway."

"I do not share your conclusion. If we were on Vulcan, the culprit for the note would have been discovered and punished. To ignore even what seems to be a baseless threat is illogical."

"You did," McCoy pointed out. "Look," he continued before Spock could retort, "if I can change my mind and admit I was wrong, then so can you. You weren't to blame."

Spock shook his head. "I had the option to resist changing stations in the simulation."

"Based on what knowledge? It was a simulation; no one knew that would happen."

"Thompson knew."

McCoy threw his hands into the air in frustration. "You're not a damn mind reader..."

"You are incorrect," Spock interrupted. "I retained the ability for touch telepathy after the transformation."

McCoy faltered for a second but then ploughed on with even more conviction than before. "Even so, you would have had to touch him to discover his intentions, and he wasn't about to tell you anything about the explosion."

"Nevertheless..."

"Look Spock, I'm not having this. What do you think Thela would say? She wouldn't want you to blame yourself." Neither did Amanda... McCoy saw the look that appeared on Spock's face at that thought, but misinterpreted it. "Well, at least accept my apology. I can see I'm not going to convince you, even using logic."

"Logic does not apply."

"At any other time I'd be over the moon to hear you say that," McCoy chuckled emptily, eyeing Spock with extreme concern. "Do you accept my apology?"

He hesitated for a moment before answering, but eventually the word came. "Yes."

McCoy grinned. "Good." He looked around the room in the short silence that followed. "You can barely recognise this room," he said at last, apparently attempting to relieve the tension that was tangible in the air.

Spock was taken aback by the sudden and unpredictable change in the direction of the conversation. "The appearance of the room has not changed Doctor."

"I meant that Thompson's stuff isn't scattered everywhere," McCoy said, forcing a lightness into his voice that did not belong. "It looks a lot better."

"His method of storage was extremely inefficient," he replied, playing along for the moment.

McCoy smirked slightly as he took in the room's new appearance. "Yours is over efficient. Leave it to you to make it look as though nobody lives here."

"It is a logical use of space."

"Of course," McCoy grinned, but his eyes remained haunted and exhausted. "Are you coming to the graduation ceremony?"

Once again, Spock had to struggle to keep up with the change in direction. "Of course."

"I'm on tenter hooks. I want to find out where we're all going to get posted."

"It is unlikely that we will all be in the same area."

"Shatter my happy bubble why don't you." McCoy complained, the joke sounding insincere on his lips.

"You do not possess a bubble of happiness."

"I know, but you're not supposed to tell me that."

The expected eyebrow rose once more. "Fascinating."

McCoy suddenly snapped his fingers. "That reminds me; follow me."

"Why?"

"Just follow me."

McCoy grabbed him by the wrist and bodily dragged him through the corridors to the quarters he shared with Kirk. The room was bordering on messy, but it was tidy enough to be lived in. Some would describe it as 'cluttered order'.

McCoy handed him a brown package. "Open it." Spock stared at it in confusion. No one apart from his parents had ever given him gifts. "Spock, you don't open it with your eyes, unless you want to tell me that you have x-ray vision and can see what it is already."

Obediently Spock opened it, and found what looked like an electrical book in his hands. "A dictionary?"

Kirk chose that moment to enter the room. "Bones, I thought we were giving it to him after graduation."

"Change of plan," McCoy shrugged.

Spock read the title aloud. "A Vulcan's guide to illogical phrases of the galaxy', compiled by L McCoy and J Kirk. Fascinating."

Kirk chuckled. "You'll never be confused around humans again. At least, you won't if you read it."

"It doesn't have every single phrase, only the ones that we could remember."

"That is very thoughtful."

"Glad you like it," McCoy grinned. This time, the smile did reach his eyes.

"If I understand correctly, it is part of tradition to give a gift in return. I do not possess one."

"Uh, Spock... you don't do that with birthday presents." Kirk explained.

At Spock's look of surprise, McCoy chuckled in glee. "We _finally_ found out when your birthday is, since you refused to tell us."

"May I ask how?"

Kirk's grin grew wider. "It's a tale of complete and utter genius, Spock. It would take days to tell it properly."

"I see," he replied sceptically.

"In other words, Jim means that we don't reveal our sources."

"You consulted my file." The answer was obvious.

Kirk's grin immediately deflated. "How did you know?"

"It was the logical conclusion."

"Once again Spock, you managed to obliterate the happy bubble," McCoy complained.

"Please accept my humble apologies."

Kirk and McCoy exchanged incredulous glances. "I don't believe it!" McCoy crowed. "Spock, you finally learnt how to use sarcasm!"

"Do not insult me Doctor."

"You can deny it all you like, but it was still a joke," McCoy said triumphantly.

Kirk glanced at the time and yelped. "We'll be late!"

"I shall leave you to prepare," Spock said, and departed the room, still holding the data pad. This would surely prove an interesting read.

He sat on his bed and read the first phrase he saw:

_'You'd laugh to see a pudding crawl'- a phrase from late twentieth century/ early twenty first century first century Earth. It was used roughly after the Second World War at the height of its popularity. It may still be used in some places. Origin unknown. Definition; usually said to somebody believed to laugh at anything._

He raise an eyebrow and read another one:

_'A tall tale'- still commonly used today, but has been used for centuries. Exact origin is unknown. Definition: a story that is believed to be false or exaggerated._

This book would be surprisingly useful in deciphering the doctor's idiomatic speech.

He glanced at the clock. Time for one more: _' I'll believe that when pigs fly'- began in the late twentieth century Earth language but is still used today. Origin unknown. Note: J Kirk thinks that the creator of the phrase was a McCoy. L McCoy thinks that J Kirk is deluding himself._

"Interesting," he murmured, as he read the small written argument between his friends.

_Definition: usually recited when faced with an unlikely event, as pigs obviously cannot fly. Note: J Kirk thinks it could be possible on an alien planet where they had wings._

Reluctantly putting the data pad down, he began to get ready for the graduation ceremony, internally amused by his friends' antics.

The corridors sported the occasional final year cadet wearing their dress uniform and hurrying towards the presentation hall. Some looked openly nervous, but for the most part they looked excited. When he finally arrived, the room was bussing with people, and it took a while before he could find Kirk and McCoy in the front row.

"There you are," McCoy said in mock drama. "I thought you were lost."

"That is an action reserved entirely for you Doctor."

"That was _once_," McCoy bristled. "It didn't happen again."

"Was that the time that you boarded the wrong shuttle in the holidays and ended up in Australia instead of Albuquerque?" Kirk asked mischievously.

"Yes," McCoy growled.

"Or was it that time you lost your map and couldn't remember your way back to the Academy?" Kirk asked, grinning impishly by now. "Or was it when..."

"Thanks Jim, we get the idea."

Gary Mitchell entered the room and sat behind them, looking hopeful at the prospect of results. "I heard somewhere that you two were making this weird dictionary."

"We finished," McCoy replied.

"Really? What's it about?"

"Earth idioms," Spock supplied, the memory of the passages still fresh in his mind.

"Have you read it yet?" Kirk asked.

"I have read three definitions. The reference book is surprisingly useful."

"You can add to it as you go along. That's how me and Jim ended up having written arguments."

"Sounds like a great dictionary," Gary chipped in.

There was the sound of someone tapping a microphone and the room lapsed into silence. "Congratulations cadets on completing your exams and waiting patiently for this moment. You have all worked incredibly hard and I am sure that you will get the careers that you have been aiming for." Hanley seemed genuinely pleased at the results. "When I call your names I ask that you please step forward."

McCoy looked suddenly morose. "Thela should be here."

Spock agreed with him, but nothing could ever bring her back. He did not want to acknowledge it, but it was the truth. He could not help but wonder whether she would have succeeded in her goal in becoming an Enterprise officer. Judging by her academic nature, it was a distinct possibility that she would have achieved it.

One by one they collected their individual envelopes that contained their placements and made their way back to their seats. A small speech followed, but most cadets were too excited to listen to it properly. By the time the speech had finished, several cadets had opened their envelopes and were whispering to one another.

Finally they were dismissed and made their way with the rest of the cadets into the Academy grounds, where they gathered under what had been dubbed 'Thela's tree'. This was the closest they would get to sharing their assignments with her.

Together, they opened their envelopes in silence. The quiet solitude of the moment was soon shattered by Kirk. "I don't believe it... the Enterprise!"

"Enterprise!" Gary whooped in triumph.

"Enterprise," McCoy whispered.

Everyone turned to Spock expectantly. He nodded.

"Enterprise."


	14. Epilogue

_We are beautiful in every single way  
Yes words can't bring us down  
So don't you bring me down today_

The next days were an excited blur for most cadets as they packed and made arrangements to check into their new posts. Some had the opportunity for shore leave first, but others were not so lucky. For some, it was a time to say good bye, and kissing couples line the corridors.

"There are some things you don't need to see," McCoy complained as he turned away from a couple in a corner. They were on their way to the shuttle station to catch their ride to the Enterprise, which was in orbit. Gary had already left.

"Are you sure you know where we are, Bones?"

"Shut up Jim," McCoy growled in response.

They took their seats on the Academy shuttle near a window, and McCoy insisted on taking the aisle seat.

"What's so special about _that_ particular seat Bones?"

"I want to make a quick escape if something goes wrong," McCoy explained, as if it were obvious.

"In the event of a crash, an escape would prove unlikely."

"Thanks Spock," McCoy drawled, grabbing the seat convulsively as he sat down. "I can always count on you to make a dismal situation a lot worse than it already is."

"I was merely stating the facts."

"Well please don't."

"Spock, can we swap seats? I want to be near the window," Kirk asked.

"Of course." Spock moved into the middle and Kirk sat near the window.

"Thanks a lot, Jim."

"What?" Kirk asked, trying hard to look appropriately innocent. "I like looking out windows..."

"You abandoned me to Spock for the journey."

"That had nothing to do with it."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "You _know_ we'll rip each other to shreds."

"Verbally of course," Spock muttered under his breath.

McCoy glared at him. "If I had a sword Spock, mark my words, I _would_ use it," the doctor threatened.

Kirk grinned happily and settled himself more comfortably into his seat. "You have to admit it's entertaining to watch. Now all I need is some popcorn."

"That's because you're not involved in it. Is this revenge for all those hypos I gave you when you ran over my bike?"

"You're close. Do you remember the first time I saw you on a shuttle?"

"Vaguely," McCoy replied, deep in thought. "That was right after you got over from the flu, wasn't it? I ran into you on a public shuttle and you practically crushed my toes with your suitcase."

"That was an accident. Anyway, do you remember saying something like 'I may throw up on you'?"

McCoy grinned impishly. "Definitely."

"Well you did, and it ruined my shoes, so I'm keeping my distance. Sorry Spock," he added sheepishly to the Vulcan.

"I'm used to shuttles now," McCoy protested.

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "Why do I have trouble believing you?"

"No idea," McCoy replied innocently.

The shuttle jerked. "Off we go," Kirk announced.

"That statement was unnecessary," Spock pointed out.

Kirk shrugged. "I felt like saying it anyway." He glanced at McCoy, who was muttering under his breath. "Bones, are you _praying_?"

"No, I'm actually threatening anything I can think of."

"Are you being sarcastic?"

"No, Jim."

Kirk turned to Spock. "You know, I can never tell when he's actually serious."

"I believe he was serious."

"Thank you!" McCoy breathed. "Someone who isn't paranoid about sarcasm."

"Bones, anyone in your company would be paranoid about sarcasm."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Kirk grinned. "Is that because you can't think of a good enough reply?"

"No," McCoy snarled. "Now let me be petrified in peace."

"Suit yourself."

The Academy disappeared on the horizon, and Spock was not sorry to see it go. His only worry now would be how he would be treated on the Enterprise under Captain Pike.

He, Kirk, McCoy and Gary were the only ensigns, freshly graduated and likely to be patronised by older officers. Word would have travelled by now that he was a 'vampire', and if it was as bad as at the Academy, his life would be miserable. Presumably everyone would know as it was on his file. Would he be feared? Would he step aboard the ship and find that he would be constantly guarded by security guards, or would he be treated like every other person aboard the ship?

One thing was certain, his low status and reputation as a Kesarahn would ensure that officers might find more reasons to discipline him, as it had been while he was a cadet. He did not think it likely that he would be completely accepted. He had tried to get used to the idea since he had endured it since his birth on Vulcan, but it was difficult. Every time he saw people like Kirk who were accepted and loved without question, his own faults were highlighted and even more obvious than before.

He would have to work twice as hard to prove himself if he were to rise in rank, and win the trust of over 400 people on the entire ship. The odds were fairly small, he knew that, but he was strangely determined that he should do well and set the path for Kesarahns to follow him.

They exited the Earth's atmosphere and the shuttle's artificial gravity system kicked in quickly, so that the transition was barely noticeable. Behind them, the planet Earth loomed like a magnificent marble, the countries safely contained by the swirls of cloud and soft blue sky. Small stars glittered behind it and around it, so that the planet and its people were surrounded by vigilant suns. It was hard to believe how ancient Terrans had thought they were alone in space. Now, that very same race was a member of the United Federation of Planets and took part in their ever continuing search for new life. It was a dramatic change to say the least.

In front of them, the Enterprise began as a small dot miles away, gradually growing bigger as they drew closer. Its sheer size was astounding, and it was hard to see it as anything other than an engineering miracle.

Spock turned and saw that Kirk was staring at it with reverence, seemingly awed by its sleek beauty. Its light tones juxtaposed the black backdrop of space, and every twinkling light was clearly visible. The engines were below and behind the hull of the ship, emphasising that those lucky officers on the Bridge really were at the head of the system. He had never seen anything like it.

"We're home," Kirk whispered.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_ Thank you guys for reading. Does anyone want a sequel? I have a rough idea for one, but I'm only going to start writing it if enough people think it's worth a shot. (Be prepared to wait for a while for it though... I might not have much time what with schoolwork and exams) If not I can just leave it here if you want. Please tell me what you think and I'll see where to go from there. _


End file.
